Jk 


Insist 


ii 


I 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


LAST  OF  THE  THORNDIKES. 


BY 


JAMES    R.    GILMORE, 
(EDMUND  KIRKE,) 

AUTHOR  OP  "AMONG  THE  PINRS,"  "THE  REAR-GUARD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION, 
"THE  ADVANCE  GUARD  OF  WESTERN  CIVILIZATION,"  ETC. 


"The  last  of  a  goodly  race, 

The  blood  of  worthy  sires 
In  him  bore  kindly  trace 
Of  a  by-gone,  better  time." 

OLD  PLAY. 


NEW  YORK: 

THE  PEOPLE'S  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 
1889. 


COPYRIGHT,  1889, 

BY   JAMES    R.    GILMOKK. 

All  rights  reserved. 


?s 


THE  LAST 


THORNDIKES 


tu 

tn 

CHAPTER  I. 
eg 

PRELIMINARY. 


§?  family,  the  American  ancestor  of  which  emigrated  to 

|5   Boston  with  John  Winthrop,  in   1630.     This  old  Puri- 

o    tan  built  his  house  in  Charlestown,  near  the  mansion 

of  Governor  Winthrop,  but  a  descendant  of  his  of  the 

third  generation  removed  to  Dorchester,  even  then  a 

O    delightful  suburb  of  the  three-hilled  town,  and  there 

&    erected,  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  a  quaint, 

roomy  mansion  which  he  surrounded  with  a  spacious 

garden   that  was  "a  joy  to  all  beholders."     In  this 

mansion  all  the  Thorndikes  lived  who  came  into  this 

•^     world  and  went  out  of  it  between  that  date  and  the 

time  when  this  history  opens,  nearly  half   a  century 

ago. 

This  could  easily  be,  for  the  house  was  large,  and 
none  of  the  family  ever  had  a  numerous   progeny — 


447276 


2  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

seldom  more  than  two  in  a  generation,  and  one  of 
those  was  reasonably  certain  to  be  a  bachelor.  If  one 
of  the  young  men  happened  to  marry,  he  took  his  wife 
home  to  the  old  mansion,  there  being  in  it  room 
enough  for  all  without  any  crowding  of  the  old  folks. 
Moreover,  numbers  never  produced  any  disharmony 
among  the  Thorndikes,  for  the  entire  lineage  respected 
one  another  and  themselves,  and  had  none  of  those 
petty  envies  and  jealousies  which  cause  discomfort  in 
so  many  households. 

This  lack  of  numerical  extension  in  the  Thorndike 
family  has  made  it  an  easy  task  to  trace  the  pedigree, 
and  estimate  the  characters  of  all  its  members,  even 
down  to  the  ancient  psalm-singer,  who  led  the  choir 
in  the  Old  North  Church,  and,  in  his  old  age,  took 
regularly  his  Sunday  nap  under  Increase  Mather's 
preaching.  The  conclusion  I  have  come  to  is  that 
while  not  "  overmuch  righteous  "  they  were  a  worthy 
race — even  those  starched  old  Puritans  who  sang 
Old  Hundred  with  a  nasal  twang,  and  gave  deliberate 
assent  to  the  roasting  of  new-born  infants  over  a  hot 
fire,  kept  continually  burning  in  an  underground  region 
styled  Gehenna.  But  time  turns  even  winter  into 
summer,  and  after  the  lapse  of  about  a  century  it 
softened  the  harsh  Calvinism  of  the  old  Thorndikes 
into  the  genial  tenets  of  William  Ellery  Channing. 
About  the  year  1820,  the  grandfather  of  the  youth 
whose  history  I  am  writing,  became  a  zealous  disciple 
of  that  eminent  man,  and  some  twenty-five  years 
later,  his  son,  Robert  Thorndike,  was  converted  to 
even  the  anti-supernaturalism  of  Theodore  Parker, 


PRELIMINARY.  3 

which  accounts  the  miracles  myths  or  "  old-wives 
tales,"  and  Jesus  merely  a  remarkable  young  man, 
with  a  wonderful  genius  for  religious  truth,  but  not 
the  central  figure  in  human  history,  the  re-creator  of 
the  moral  world,  and,  by  natural  right,  the  King  of 
all  mankind. 

However,  I  suspect  that  their  religious  tenets  never 
sat  very  oppressively  upon  any  of  the  family.  It  is 
certain  that  none  of  the  later  generations  were  ever 
seen  at  prayer  meeting,  or  at  church  on  a  rainy  Sun 
day  ;  and  it  is  even  reported  that  they  preferred  a 
night  at  the  play  or  the  opera  to  the  week-day-even 
ing  service  at  the  old  Dr.  Harris  meeting-house. 
Notwithstanding  this,  they  paid  their  pew-rent,  were 
liberal  patrons  of  the  contribution  box,  respectful  to 
their  clergyman,  loving  to  one  another,  and  kindly- 
affectioned  to  all,  especially  to  their  humbler  neigh 
bors  ;  and  if  they  did  not  manifest  what  has  been 
termed  the  "  enthusiasm  of  humanity,"  they  certainly 
exhibited  a  hereditary  disposition  to  be  of  practical 
service  to  their  fellow-creatures.  And  this  disposition 
was  manifested  so  habitually,  and  in  so  many  ways,  as 
to  secure  for  them  the  good-will  and  esteem  of  a  very 
wide  circle  of  acquaintance.  If  they  had  any  consti 
tutional  failing  it  was  an  intense  family  pride,  and  a 
lofty  contempt  for  social  pretensions  when  based  upon 
the  mere  possession  of  money.  Money-getting  they 
regarded  as  too  low  a  pursuit  for  a  gentleman  ;  and  it 
was  probably  owing  to  this  fact  that  scarcely  any  prop 
erty  ever  descended  from  father  to  son,  except  the 
old  homestead  to  which  the  mere  passage  of  time  had 


4  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

given  the  larger  part  of  its  value.  Almost  without 
exception  they  were  lawyers,  some  of  them  of  fine 
abilities  and  large  incomes ;  but  the  incomes  were 
pretty  sure  to  be  balanced  by  the  outgoes,  and  these 
were  not  always  expended  upon- themselves,  but  in 
public  projects  or  upon  their  poorer  neighbors. 

These  family  traits  were  all  combined  in  Robert 
Thorndike,  the  uncle  of  young  Richard,  and  besides 
him,  at  the  opening  of  this  history,  the  only  surviving 
member  of  the  ancient  family.  The  parents  of  Rich 
ard  had  died  when  he  was  but  a  child,  and  this  uncle 
had  brought  him  up,  and  lavished  upon  him  the  ab 
sorbing  affection  of  a  strong,  manly  nature.  He  had 
never  married,  never  perhaps  thought  of  marriage, 
certainly  never  since  that  day  in  1832,  when  both  the 
boy's  parents,  stricken  down  by  the  cholera  scourge, 
were  laid  away  together  in  one  grave  of  the  old  church 
yard.  Then,  taking  the  two-year-old  lad  in  his  arms, 
he  had  said  to  him,  "  Don't  cry,  Dickey.  Uncle  Rob, 
will  now  be  both  father  and  mother  to  you." 

And  he  had  kept  his  word.  From  that  day  forth 
that  orphan  child  became  the  chief,  almost  the  sole, 
object  of  his  life.  He  watched  over  and  tended  him 
in  early  childhood,  and  in  boyhood  guided  his  sports, 
shared  his  studies,  and  always  on  Saturdays,  when 
the  lad  could  be  released  from  his  books,  had  him  as 
his  constant  companion.  Then,  taking  him  and  a 
little  girl  playmate  into  his  gig,  he  would  drive  into 
town,  and  have  the  two  about  him  all  the  day— in  his 
office,  or  beside  him  in  the  dingy  court-room,  listening 
to  the  dry  pleadings.  This  over,  the  three  would 


PRELIMINARY.  5 

trudge  hand  in  hand,  through  State  and  Washington 
streets,  to  Dexter's  stables  in  Franklin  Street,  where 
the  old  gray  horse,  and  the  old-fashioned  gig,  would 
be  in  waiting  to  take  them  home.  Then  they  would 
sup,  and  pass  the  evening  together,  the  children  often 
screaming  with  delight  as  the  man  emptied  into  their 
laps  the  budget  he  had  carefully  filled,  during  all  the 
week,  with  droll,  Saturday-night  stories. 

Thus  the  man  lived  in  the  boy ;  and  it  was  but 
natural  that  the  boy  should  grow  up  feeling  for  the 
man  a  corresponding  affection,  and  should  copy  his  ways, 
his  erect,  easy  carriage,  firm,  manly  gait,  genial,  cour 
teous  manners;  and  should  imbibe  his  opinions,  see 
the  world  through  his  eyes — this  world,  and  also  that 
hazy,  unknowable  realm,  which  stands  for  the  future  life 
in  the  creed  of  agnosticism.  To  the  uncle  the  nephew 
was  all  the  world  ;  but,  before  the  latter  had  arrived 
at  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  became  aware  of  the  fact 
that,  though  he  was  devotedly  attached  to  his  uncle, 
his  world  was  centred  in  the  gentle  young  girl  who 
had  been  his  constant  companion  since  childhood. 

It  was  about  this  time,  when  the  lad  had  finished 
the  studies  preparatory  to  college,  that  he  had  a  con 
ference  with  his  uncle  which  exerted  an  important 
influence  upon  his  future  career.  The  latter  was 
seated  after  supper,  in  his  library,  a  large,  high-ceil- 
inged  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  old  mansion. 
A  pet  kitten  was  perched  upon  the  top  of  the  high- 
backed  arm-chair  he  occupied,  and  another  was  asleep 
in  the  arms  of  a  large  dog,  with  long,  pendulous  ears, 
that  lay  curled  up  at  his  feet.  The  curtains  were 


6  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

drawn,  and  one  burner  of  a  huge  chandelier  cast  a  soft 
light  upon  the  rows  of  books  that  lined  the  walls,  and 
the  many  busts  and  articles  of  virtu  which  filled  every 
niche  of  the  spacious  apartment,  all  revealing  the 
refined  taste  of  a  man,  who  was  at  once  a  brilliant 
lawyer,  a  cultivated  scholar,  and  a  polished  gentleman. 
His  slippered  feet  were  perched  upon  a  chair  before 
him,  and  he  was  leaning  back  in  his  seat,  in  one  hand 
his  evening  cigar,  in  the  other  a  manuscript  at  which 
he  was  glancing  with  considerable  interest.  At  this 
moment  his  nephew  entered  the  room,  and  throwing 
himself  upon  a  lounge,  took  up  the  evening  news 
paper  which  his  uncle  had  let  fall  upon  the  floor. 

After  a  few  moments,  still  glancing  at  the  manu 
script,  the  uncle  said  to  him.  "  I  say,  Dick,  this  isn't 
bad:  (reading,) 

"  They  are  marvellous  eyes,  of  a  hazel  hue, 
From  whose  still  depths  a  soul  looks  through, 
Serene  and  deep  as  the  ether  blue. 

"Born  of  the  gorgeous  sunset  skies, 
They  have  the  twilight's  loveliest  dyes, 
And  all  its  glory  in  them  lies. 

"  They  lit  my  boyhood's  earliest  dream, 
And  on  my  manhood  they  will  beam, 
Robing  it  all  in  a  golden  gleam. 

"  That  is  very  good,  Dick,  very  good,  and  more 
over,  it's  very  true — Lottie  has  marvellous  eyes.  And 
the  rest  is  very  sensible — more  so  than  most  poetry 

"I'll  sing  those  eyes  while  I've  voice  to  sing, 
And  clasp  that  maid  while  I've  arms  to  cling, 
And  richer  I'll  be  than  any  king  : 


PRELIMINARY.  7 

"  For  in  those  eyes,  those  hazel  eyes, 
The  all  of  earthly  beauty  lies, 
And  half  the  bliss  of  Paradise. 

"That  is  good  sense,  Dick.  I'd  do  so  myself,  if  I 
were  of  your  age.  If  I  had  met  a  girl  like  Lottie 
thirty  years  ago,  it  wouldn't  have  been  left  solely  to 
you  to  perpetuate  the  family." 

The  youth  while  listening  to  this  reading,  had  kept 
his  recumbent  position  ;  now  he  sat  upright,  and  asked, 
"  How  did  you  get  that  paper,  Uncle?  " 

"  Why — I  stole  it.  You  see,  Dick,  Lottie  was  so 
delighted  with  the  verses,  she  couldn't  keep  them  to 
herself, — she  had  to  run  over  here  and  read  them  to 
me ;  and  as  she  wouldn't  give  them  up,  I  took  them 
from  her  by  force  and  arms.  The  fact  is,  Dick,  I've  a 
private  detective  over  you — Lottie  herself — so  you'd 
better  not  say  anything  to  her  you  don't  wish  me  to 
know." 

"  I  don't  want  to  keep  anything  from  you,  Uncle 
Rob,"  said  the  young  man  in  an  earnest  tone. 

"  I  know  you  don't,  my  dear  boy,  and  I  shouldn't 
care  if  you  did.  I  can  trust  you — you  are  the  best  boy 
in  the  world.  And,  Dick,  it's  been  dawning  on  me 
lately  that  in  you  our  race  will  reach  the  crest  of  the 
wave.  You  have  only  to  sharpen  up  your  tools  well 
at  college,  to  outdo  all  the  old  Thorndikes,  and  be  an 
honor  to  the  family?" 

"And  your  heart  is  set  on  my  being  a  lawyer?" 
said  the  youth. 

"  A  lawyer !  Why,  what  else  can  you  be  ?  All  the 
Thorndikes  have  been  lawyers." 


8  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"And  that's  the  reason  they've  all  been  poor.  I 
want  to  be  rich ;  so,  I'd  rather  be  a  merchant." 

"  What  !  "  exclaimed  the  uncle.  "  Bury  your  fine 
talents  among  a  lot  of  gunny-bags,  and  pork-barrels!  " 

"Not  that  kind  of  merchant,  Uncle  Rob,"  said  the 
youth.  "  There  are  merchants  whose  ships  are  on 
every  sea — who  trade  all  over  the  world.  It  seems  to 
me  that  to  manage  such  a  business  must  require  as 
much  brains  as  to  be  a  lawyer." 

"Well,  it  does,  Dick;  and  I  don't  know  but  more, 
for  a  lawyer  has  precedents,  and  a  merchant  of  that 
sort  has  none — he  must  think  out  his  operations  for 
himself  ;  be  a  pioneer  ;  an  original  organizer." 

"  And  that's  what  Mr.  Wilder  was,  and  I  hear  he 
has  left  half  a  million." 

"But  it  came  natural  to  Wilder,"  said  the  uncle, 
"  he  merely  succeeded  his  father  and  grandfather. 
But  he  didn't  leave  half  a  million.  All  the  accounts 
were  in  before  I  threw  up  the  executorship,  and  he 
won't  pan  out  over  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand." 

"Why  did  you  throw  up  the  executorship,  Uncle?" 
asked  his  nephew. 

"  Because  I  couldn't  stand  the  widow,  and  that 
crazy  scamp,  Cravan,  my  co-executor.  She's  as  mer 
cenary  and  suspicious  as  sin,  and  what  of  Cravan  is  not 
knave,  is  fool.  But,  tell  me,  Dick,  why  do  you  want 
to  be  rich  ?  Money  is  a  low  pursuit,  not  fit  for  a  mind 
like  yours." 

"  For  the  reason  that  if  I'm  not  rich,  or  on  the  sure 
road  to  riches,  Mrs.  Wilder  will  object  to  my 
marrying  Lottie,"  answered  the  young  man.  "  She 


PRELIMINARY:  9 

has  already  told  her  that  she  must  not  think  of  me  as 
her  future  husband,  for  I  shall  always  be  poor.  And 
she  assures  Lottie  that  I  am  seeking  only  her  money." 

"  She  need  not  trouble  herself  very  much  about  the 
money,  Dick,"  said  his  uncle,  "  for  by  the  time  you 
are  old  enough  to  marry,  there'll  not  be  a  dollar  of  it 
that  is  not  lost,  or  in  Cravan's  pocket." 

"  That,  I  think,  is  not  the  real  consideration " 
answered  the  youth  ;  "  she  never  did  like  me  ;  but  for 
the  past  six  months — ever  since  Mr.  Wilder's  death — 
she  has  shown  an  actual  repugnance  to  me.  I  half 
expect  she  will  soon  forbid  me  the  house." 

"  I  see  how  that  is,"  said  the  older  gentleman,  "  she 
has  felt  the  same  all  along,  but  "knowing  Wilder's 
fondness  for  you  she  concealed  her  real  feelings  while 
he  was  living.  Hard-bitted  as  she  is,  she  was  always 
as  docile  as  a  kitten  with  Wilder.  But,  Dick,  her 
repugnance  is  not  so  much  to  you  as  to  me ;  she  is 
visiting  the  sins  of  the  uncle  upon  the  nephew.  It's  a 
story  I  would  have  told  you  long  ago,  had  I  not  seen 
that  in  Lottie's  nature  there  is  not  a  trace  of  her 
mother,  or  of  her  scapegrace  of  an  uncle.  She  is 
altogether  like  her  father;  and  a  finer  fellow  than 
Aleck  Wilder  never  trod  the  footstool." 

"  Had  Mrs.  Wilder  a  brother?  I  never  knew  that," 
said  the  youth. 

"That's  not  singular.  I  don't  believe  Lottie  knows 
it,  for  they  never  speak  of  him,  and  he  disappeared 
long  ago,  when  you  and  she  were  little  bits  of  things 
that  your  father  used  to  trundle  about  together  in  a 
baby-wagon.  And  you  were  two  as  pretty  rose-buds 


10  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

as  ever  grew.  It  was  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  you — 
not  half  a  head  taller  than  she  was — hand  the  little 
lady  out  of  the  carriage,  and  then  put  your  arm  about 
her,  and  kiss  her  'good-by.'  They  say  'matches  are 
made  in  heaven,'  but  that  was  made  in  the  cradle ; 
and  I  don't  mean  Mrs.  Wilder  shall  break  it  up.  But 
I  will  tell  you  about  the  brother,  and  then  you  will 
have  a  knowledge  of  the  enemy's  position  ;  and  there 
is  nothing  like  having  that  when  you  are  going  into  a 
conflict  of  guns,  or  wits,  or  of  both  together. 


CHAPTER  II. 

RETROSPECTIVE. 

"  IT  is  not  a  thing  of  yesterday,  Richard,"  said  his 
uncle,  throwing  away  his  cigar,  and  taking  down  to  his 
lap  the  kitten  which  was  perched  on  the  back  of 
his  chair.  "  The  ill-feeling  of  Mrs.  Wilder  goes  back 
to  a  time  before  you  were  born,  when  she,  and  Wilder, 
and  your  father  were  children,  and  I  was  a  youth  just 
graduated.  She  was  the  daughter  of  James  Pritchett, 
the  soap  boiler — "  old  Pritchett "  he  was  generally 
called,  for  he  was  not  much  respected.  He  occupied 
the  house  she  now  lives  in,  and  we  lived  in  this  old 
mansion,  which,  you  know,  has  been  the  family  home 
stead  ever  since  the  days  of  the  Judge,  your  three 
times  great-grandfather.  Pritchett  was  thought  to  be 
rich,  and  she  was  his  only  daughter  and  very  pretty ; 
but  your  father  and  I  would  as  soon  have  thought  of 
associating  with  a  servant-maid  as  with  the  daughter 
of  the  old  soap  boiler.  We  knew  her,  of  course,  and 
accosted  her  courteously  whenever  we  met  her  ;  but 
we  never  went  to  her  father's  house,  and  very  rarely 
encountered  her  elsewhere.  She  resented  what  she 
called  our  exclusiveness,  for  she  was  very  ambitious, 
and  really  fitted  to  shine  in  society,  being  very  bright, 


12  THE   LAST    OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

and  having  had  a  polite  education.  This  was  the  soil 
in  which  her  repugnance  to  me  took  root ;  but  not 
the  sole  cause  of  her  animosity. 

"  She  grew  up  a  very  beautiful  woman,  and  when 
about  Lottie's  age,  somehow  met  Aleck  Wilder  and 
entrapped  him  into  a  marriage.  I  say  '  entrapped  ' 
because  Wilder  was  of  old  stock,  with  a  good  deal  of 
family  pride,  and  he  must  have  been  fairly  infatuated 
to  not  only  marry  her,  but  to  make  his  home  with  her 
beer-drinking  father  and  scapegrace  of  a  brother. 
That  brother,  the  younger  James  Pritchett,  was  the 
cause  of  the  trouble.  He  had  the  air  and  manners  of  a 
gentleman,  but  was  an  exact  reproduction  of  the  old 
man. 

"After  young  Pritchett's  graduation  he  studied  law, 
and  before  his  admission  to  the  bar,  became  engaged 
to  a  very  estimable  young  woman,  the  daughter  of  a 
widow  living  in  Boston.  The  widow  had  a  moderate 
property  invested  on  mortgage,  and  the  interest  on 
her  principal  investment  not  being  paid,  she  gave  the 
mortgage  to  the  young  man  to  collect.  He  fore 
closed  it,  and  instead  of  paying  the  proceeds  over  to 
her,  retained  the  money  for  re-investment.  This  he 
pretended  to  do,  and  as  evidence  of  it,  put  into  her 
hands  three  bonds  and  mortgages  purporting  to  be 
executed  by  as  many  different  persons.  The  interest 
on  these  mortgages  he  professed  to  collect,  and  dur 
ing  a  year  he  did  actually  pay  over  to  the  widow  a 
sum  equal  to  the  income  of  the  mortgages.  Then  one 
day,  while  the  widow  was  looking  through  her  tin 
box,  she  happened  to  observe  that  none  of  the  mort- 


RETROSPECTIVE.  1 3 

gages  had  been  recorded.  For  some  other  reason  she 
had  begun  to  distrust  Pritchett,  and  this  led  her  to 
bring  the  papers  to  me,  with  the  request  that  I  would 
place  them  on  record,  and  also  examine  and  appraise 
the  real  estate  they  covered.  I  did  so,  and  soon  ran 
against  the  fact  that  there  was  no  such  property  in 
existence,  nor  any  such  persons  as  the  pretended 
mortgagers.  In  other  words,  Pritchett  had  com 
mitted  forgery,  false  personation  and  embezzlement. 

"  I  was  satisfied  that  he  had  not  wasted  the  money 
upon  himself,  for  he  was  strikingly  mean  in  personal 
expenditures.  He  had  lost  it,  I  concluded,  in  stock 
speculations.  That  being  so,  the  question  was  how 
could  it  be  recovered  ?  Old  Pritchett  was  reputed  to 
be  slippery,  and  if  I  were  to  approach  him  on  the  sub 
ject,  he  would,  no  doubt,  advise  his  son  to  get  out  of 
the  way,  and  refuse  to  pay  anything.  He  might  even 
let  the  young  man  go  to  prison  rather  than  refund  so 
large  a  sum  as  twenty  thousand  dollars.  I  had,  there 
fore,  to  proceed  with  caution,  not  even  disclosing  to 
the  widow  my  discovery,  lest  in  her  indignation  she 
should  reveal  it  to  young  Pritchett. 

"  My  first  step  was  to  open  the  whole  transaction  to 
Wilder.  He  had  been  a  schoolboy  with  your  father, 
and  your  father  and  I  had  been  his  attorneys  from  his 
first  going  into  business.  I  knew  him  to  be  discreet, 
and  thoroughly  honorable  and  upright.  He  expressed 
no  surprise,  for,  with  the  instinct  of  an  honest  man,  he 
had  detected  the  real  character  of  both  the  son  and 
father.  He  believed  the  son  would  attempt  to  get 
away,  and  the  father  would  not  help  him  out  of  the 


14  THE   LAST    OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

difficulty.  Moreover,  he  thought  the  old  man  could 
do  nothing  if  he  would — his  affairs,  he  said,  were 
badly  embarrassed,  and  if  I  should  search  the  records, 
I  would  probably  find  all  his  property  mortgaged  to 
its  full  value.  He  went  away  before  your  father  and 
I  had  decided  what  course  to  pursue,  but  we  had 
gained  from  him  a  better  knowledge  of  old  Pritchett 
and  his  resources. 

"  Wilder  had  no  sooner  left  our  office  than  I  went 
to  the  Registry  of  Deeds,  to  ascertain  if  the  old  man 
had  any  unencumbered  real  estate.  I  found  nothing 
clear  except  the  house  he  lived  in,  which  was  worth 
just  about  the  amount  the  son  had  embezzled. 
Everything  else — even  his  soap-boiling  establishment 
— was  covered  with  mortgages,  two  and  three  deep, 
and  this  indicated  that  Wilder  was  right — the  old  man 
was  irretrievably  embarrassed.  However,  there  were 
no  judgments  against  him,  and,  consequently,  he  could 
give  a  good  title  to  the  homestead.  It  was  evident 
that  the  only  way  to  secure  my  client  was  to  get  for 
her  the  deed  of  that  property,  and  get  it  at  once, 
before  the  old  man's  affairs  became  any  more  en 
tangled.  He  might  decline  to  give  it ;  but  it  was  only 
just  that  he  should,  for  he  was  responsible  for  bring 
ing  the  young  scoundrel  into  the  world.  The  young 
fellow  was  then  not  twenty-one — a  most  precocious 
villain. 

"  To  prevent  young  Pritchett  slipping  through  my 
fingers,  I  decided  to  swear  out  a  warrant  against  him, 
and  to  place  it  in  the  hands  of  an  officer ;  but  not  to 
have  it  actually  served,  unless  he  should  fail  to  give 


RETROSPECTIVE.  1 5 

security  for  the  money  embezzled.  Having  done  this, 
I  returned  to  my  office  with  the  warrant  and  a  couple 
of  detectives  in  citizen's  clothes,  and  then  sent  for 
young  Pritchett.  He  was  a  brazen,  but  cowardly  fel 
low,  and  I  had  no  sooner  taken  him  into  my  private 
room  and  showed  him  the  warrant,  then  he  sank  back 
in  his  chair  as  if  his  very  life  was  oozing  out  of  him. 
When  he  had  somewhat  recovered  himself,  I  told  him 
that  two  detectives  were  in  the  adjoining  room,  one 
or  the  other  of  whom  I  proposed  should  be  his  con 
stant  attendant  till  he  had  paid,  or  given  security  for, 
the  money  he  had  stolen.  He  could  have  a  reason 
able  time  in  which  to  do  it ;  but  if  it  were  not  done 
speedily,  I  should  direct  the  officer  to  serve  the  war 
rant  and  take  him  to  prison,  after  which,  as  he  knew, 
there  could  be  no  settlement.  He  admitted  having 
lost  the  money  in  stock  speculations,  and  said  that  his 
only  hope  was  in  his  sister's  husband,  for  he  was  sure 
his  father  would  do  nothing  for  him.  His  sister  I 
knew  to  be  much  attached  to  him,  and,  as  she  is  a 
woman  of  imperious  will,  I  feared  that  she  would  pre 
vail  upon  Wilder  to  offer  himself  as  security.  This  he 
could  not  afford,  and  it  was  not  right  that  he  should 
assume  the  liability ;  but  I  could  keep  him  out  of  it  by 
refusing  to  accept  any  guarantee  except  real  estate,  of 
which  he  had  none. 

"  When  young  Pritchett  had  gone  off  with  one  of 
the  detectives,  I  prepared  a  deed  of  the  mansion  from 
the  old  man  to  myself,  as  trustee  for  the  widow,  and 
then  drafted  a  return  paper  agreeing  to  reconvey  the 
property  to  him,  or  his  heirs,  at  any  time  within  five 


l6  THE    LAST    OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

years,  on  his  paying  back  the  sum  embezzled,  together 
with  the  interest.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  was  to  have 
occupation  of  the  property  at  a  rental  of  twelve  hun 
dred  dollars,  besides  insurance  and  taxes.  I  expected 
them  all  upon  me  in  the  morning,  and  I  decided  to 
have  the  papers  in  readiness  to  close  the  business 
before  the  old  man  should  have  time  to  reconsider 
any  sudden  good  impulse  that  might  come  to  him. 

"  They  all  came  as  I  expected — the  old  man  hob 
bling  along  on  his  cane,  Wilder  with  the  look  of  a 
lamb  being  led  to  the  slaughter,  and  his  wife  with 
colors  flying,  and  every  sail  set  from  jib  to  spanker. 
The  young  fellow  had  lost  all  the  meekness  of  the  day 
before,  and  from  his  unconcern  I  inferred  that  Wilder 
had  succumbed  to  his  wife,  and  agreed  to  give  the 
security.  As  soon  as  they  were  seated  in  my  private 
room,  Mrs.  Wilder  opened  directly  upon  the  subject 
by  saying,  as  near  as  I  can  recollect,  '  We  have  come 
upon  an  unpleasant  business,  Mr.  Thorndike.  My 
brother  has  imprudently  used  another  person's  money. 
He  has  intended  to  replace  it,  but  is  unable  to  do  so 
at  the  moment.  Therefore,  my  husband  has  gener 
ously  agreed  to  give  your  client  his  own  obligation  to 
refund  the  amount,  whatever  it  is,  within  a  reasonable 
time.' 

"  '  That  certainly  is  very  generous  in  your  husband, 
madam,'  I  answered.  'Does  he  offer  merely  his 
personal  security?'  and  I  looked  inquiringly  at 
Wilder. 

"  Giving  him  no  chance  to  reply,  his  wife  said  with 
all  the  concise  directness  of  a  business  man,  '  He  can 


RETROSPECTIVE.  17 

offer  you  no  other,  sir.  He  has  no  real  estate.  All 
his  capital  is  in  his  business  ;  but  being  his  lawyer  you 
must  know  that  he  is  absolutely  good  for  a  much 
larger  sum  than  this.' 

"  '  I  know  that  perfectly  well,  madam,'  I  answered. 
'  In  any  ordinary  transaction  I  would  take  your  hus 
band's  obligation  for  twice  the  amount  here  involved  ; 
but  this  money  belonged  to  a  widow.  It  was 
intrusted  to  your  brother  to  be  invested  on  real-estate 
security.  Your  husband  will  see  the  impropriety  of 
my  accepting  any  other.' 

"  '  But  my  husband  has  no  real  estate,  sir,'  replied 
Mrs.  Wilder,  with  an  imperious  toss  of  her  head. 

"  '  So  you  have  observed,  madam,'  I  remarked  ; 
'  but  your  father  has.'  There  was  a  gratified  gleam 
in  Wilder's  eyes  when  I  said  this,  but  he  sat  there  as 
mute  as  an  oyster. 

" '  I  have  none,  sir,'  sputtered  the  old  man,  '  none 
that  is  not  mortgaged — heavily  mortgaged.' 

"  '  Then  the  records  are  not  correct,'  I  remarked  ;  '  I 
looked  them  over  yesterday,  and  found  the  house  you 
live  in  entirely  free  from  encumbrance.' 

"  '  But,'  he  said,  '  you  don't  ask  me  to  mortgage  the 
roof  over  my  head.' 

" '  I  do  not  ask  you  to  mortgage  anything,'  I 
answered,  '  I  merely  give  you  a  chance  to  right  a 
wrong,  save  your  family  from  disgrace,  and  your  son 
from  prison.' 

"  '  We  fear  no  disgrace,  sir,'  said  Mrs.  Wilder,  with 
her  superb  air.  '  My  brother  has  been  inconsiderate 
and  imprudent — that  is  all.  If  people  should  hear  of 


1 8  THE   LAST   OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

it,  they  would  consider  it  what  it  was — merely  a  youth 
ful  indiscretion.' 

"  I  made  no  comment  on  Mrs.  Wilder's  peculiar 
code  of  morals,  for  I  did  not  wish  to  embarrass  a  settle 
ment  on  which  depended  nearly  the  entire  livelihood 
of  two  poor  women.  I  merely  handed  old  Pritchett 
the  papers  I  had  drawn,  saying,  '  I  understand  your 
circumstances,  sir,  and  knowing  that  you  have  only 
one  piece  of  clear  property,  I  have  prepared  a  deed  of 
it,  and  a  back  agreement,  which  will  settle  this  busi 
ness  if  you  are  so  disposed.' 

"  The  old  man  adjusted  his  glasses,  and  glanced 
over  the  papers.  In  a  few  moments  he  handed  them 
back  to  me  with  the  curt  remark,  '  I  can't  sign  that 
deed,  sir.' 

" '  If  that  is  your  decision,'  I  said,  '  have  you  any 
other  proposition  to  make  ?  ' 

"  '  None,  sir,'  he  answered,  '  beyond  what  has  been 
made.' 

" '  Then,  sir,'  I  remarked,  rising  to  close  the  inter 
view,  '  the  law  will  have  to  take  its  course.  There 
appears  to  be  no  occasion  for  any  further  talk  on  the 
subject.' 

"  The  old  man  rose  to  go,  but  Mrs.  Wilder 
motioned  him  back,  saying,  '  Keep  your  seat,  father,' 
then,  turning  to  me  she  added,  '  Will  you  allow  me  to 
look  at  those  papers  ?  ' 

"  I  handed  them  to  her,  and  she  proceeded  to  read 
them  very  deliberately.  There  followed  a  brief 
whispered  conference  between  her  and  her  husband, 
and  then  she  said  to  me,  '  Will  you  tell  me  what 


RETROSPECTIVE.  ig 

would  be  the  penalty  if  my  brother  should  be  con 
victed  of  this  offence  ?  ' 

'"There  are  several  offences,  madam,'  I  replied. 
'  Your  brother  has  committed  three  distinct  acts  of 
forgery  in  the  first  degree,  the  penalty  for  each  of 
which  is  not  less  than  ten  years  in  a  state  prison.  He 
has  also  committed  three  distinct  acts  of  false  persona 
tion,  which  have  for  each  a  like  penalty,  at  the  dis 
cretion  of  the  judge.  In  addition,  he  has  been  guilty 
of  one  act  of  embezzlement.  This,  though  morally 
the  worst  of  the  three  crimes,  has  a  lighter  punish 
ment — five  years,  at  the  discretion  of  the  judge. 
Frankness  obliges  me  to  add  that  your  brother  could 
expect  no  mercy.  The  judge  would  regard  the  case 
as  one  calling  for  the  extreme  penalty,  both  on 
account  of  your  brother's  intelligence  and  knowledge 
of  the  law,  and  because  he  has  done  these  crimes 
against  an  unprotected  woman,  whose  sole  support 
he  has  taken,  and  whose  confidence  he  won  under 
pretence  of  an  intention  to  marry  her  daughter.  Also, 
the  evidence  against  him  is  indisputable.  I  cannot 
see  how  he  could  escape  conviction.' 

"  While  saying  this  I  looked  at  young  Pritchett. 
He  had  lost  his  brazen  assurance,  and  sat  cowering  in 
his  chair,  his  face  pallid,  and  his  hands  trembling. 
His  soul  seemed  to  have  slunk  away  into  the  inmost 
recesses  of  his  body.  His  sister,  too,  was  very  pale  ; 
but  she  was  perfectly  self-collected,  and  had  the  air  of 
being  conscious  of  having  control  of  the  situation. 
She  was  at  this  time  about  twenty-five,  and  a  most 
magnificent  woman.  When  I  had  recounted  the 


2O  THE   LAST   OF  THE   TIIOKNDIKKS. 

penalties,  she  asked  in  a  quick,  decisive  tone,  '  Is 
my  brother  now  under  arrest  ?  ' 

"  '  He  is  under  surveillance,  not  under  arrest.  How 
ever,  the  officer  is  in  the  adjoining  room  ready  to 
serve  the  warrant  as  soon  as  you  definitely  decline 
my  proposition.' 

"'Very  well,  sir,'  she  answered,  'we  accept  it. 
Father,  please  to  sign  the  deed.  You  have  always 
said  the  house  should  be  mine  on  my  marriage.' 

"'I  have  always  regarded  it  as  yours,  and  for  that 
reason  have  not  mortgaged  it,'  said  the  old  man, 
1  and  if  you  are  foolish  enough  to  throw  it  away  on 
this  scamp  of  a  boy,  you  can  do  so.  But  I  tell  you 
I  am  loaded  down  to  the  water's  edge — I  can't  agree 
to  pay  a  rent  of  twelve  hundred  dollars.' 

'"My  husband  can  and  will  pay  it,'  said  Mrs. 
Wilder,  proudly.  '  He  would  arrange  the  whole,  if 
Mr.  Thorndike  were  not  so  obstinate.' 

"  Her  manner  to  me  throughout  had  been  stu 
diously  disdainful ;  but  the  thought  of  those  defrauded 
women  had  kept  me  in  good  temper.  Giving  no 
heed  to  her,  I  now  said  to  the  old  man,  '  If  you  assent, 
Mr.  Pritchett,  we  will  execute  the  papers  at  once. 
My  brother  is  a  notary.' 

'"I  consider  the  house  my  daughter's  property,' 
said  the  old  soap  boiler,  '  I  will  sign  the  deed.' 

"We  went  together  to  the  outer  office,  and  in  five 
minutes  he  had  the  agreement  in  his  pocket,  and  I  had 
the  deed  in  mine.  Then,  as  if  glad  to  be  well  rid  of 
a  disagreeable  business,  he  at  once  left  the  office  with 
out  so  much  as  saying,  '  good  morning,'  to  any  one. 


RETROSPECTIVE.  21 

On  my  return  to  my  private  room  Mrs.  Wilder,  with 
even  more  than  her  usual  asperity,  said  to  me,  '  Well 
sir,  now  that  this  case  is  settled,  I  suppose  that  my 
brother  will  be  free  from  any  more  persecution,  and 
that  no  further  publicity  will  be  given  to  this  busi 
ness.' 

" '  Madam,'  I  replied,  'this  case  is  settled  so  far  as  my 
client  is  concerned  ;  but  you  doubtless  understand  that 
I  have  not  compounded  a  felony.  Your  brother  is 
still  liable  to  a  criminal  prosecution.  The  criminal  pro 
ceedings  which  I  began  were  necessary  to  prevent  his 
absconding.  They  will  be  carried  no  further.  The 
only  persons  now  informed  of  the  facts  are  the 
justice,  the  detectives,  my  brother,  and  ourselves. 
I  shall  speak  of  them  to  no  one  else,  except  my  client 
and  her  daughter.' 

"'Then  I  understand,'  she  said,  tartly,  'that  the 
lady  knows  nothing  of  these  proceedings — that  we  have 
you  to  thank  for  them  ? ' 

"'  Exactly,  madam;  and  you  will  most  sincerely 
thank  me  when  you  appreciate  the  fact  that  I  have 
checked  your  brother  in  a  criminal  career,  and  given 
him  a  chance  to  make  an  honest  man  of  himself.  He 
is  not  yet  twenty-one,  and  will  probably  live  long 
enough  to  be  grateful  for  what  I  have  done  for 
him.' 

"  '  He  probably  will,  and  be  duly  grateful ;  I  certainly 
shall  be.  Good  morning,  sir,' and  with  these  words  she 
swept  out  of  the  office,  her  brother  and  Wilder  follow 
ing  in  her  rear.  As  Wilder  left  the  room  he  wrung 
my  hand  in  a  way  which  said  that  he  thought  I  had 


22  THE    LAST    OF    THE    TIIORNDIKES. 

saved  him  from  a  dead  loss  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars. 

"  On  that  day  Mrs.  Wilder's  dislike  for  me  deepened 
into  hatred,  and  it  was  in  no  way  moderated  by  the 
discovery,  which  she  soon  afterward  made,  that  her 
husband  consulted  me  on  all  important  subjects. 

"  I  lost  no  time  in  calling  upon  the  widow  and  her 
daughter.  To  save  them  anxiety  I  began  my  story 
where  your  father  used  to  begin  the  reading  of  a  novel 
— at  the  conclusion.  After  stating  that  the  money 
was  safe,  I  recounted  the  details.  When  they  real 
ized  the  escape  they  had  made,  both  burst  into  tears 
and  the  mother  exclaimed,  '  Oh,  sir !  you  have  saved 
both  me  and  my  daughter.'  I  tell  you,  Dick,  her 
words  were  very  pleasant.  As  you  go  through  life 
you  will  find  your  keenest  enjoyment  to  come  from 
helping  those  who  can't  help  themselves — the  friend 
less  and  fatherless." 

"  And  no  one  ever  had  more  of  such  enjoyment 
than  you,  Uncle,"  said  Richard.  "  I  only  hope  I  may 
be  as  much  loved  as  you  are,  and  for  the  same  reason. 
How  long  ago  did  this  happen  ?  " 

"Just  about  fifteen  years.  I  remember  that  it  was 
about  a  year  before  your  father  and  mother  died." 

"  And  what  became  of  young  Pritchett  ?  " 

"  Wilder  gave  him  some  money,  and  he  left  the 
country.  To  trumpet  my  praises,  the  widow  told  the 
story  pretty  widely,  and  Pritchett  was  afraid  of  a  crim 
inal  prosecution.  I  suspect  that  he  was  a  bad  fellow 
generally,  and  had  some  bitter  enemies  whom  he 
feared.  Old  Pritchett  died  in  about  two  years,  badly 


RETROSPECTIVE.  23 

insolvent,  and  soon  afterward  Wilder  took  a  deed  of 
the  mansion,  and  I  paid  the  money  over  to  the  widow. 
And  now  comes  the  strangest  part  of  the  story. 

"  I  had  heard  nothing  from  young  Pritchett — did 
not  know  whether  he  was  alive  or  dead — when  one 
day,  about  five  years  ago,  there  came  to  me  a  letter 
from  him,  enclosing  a  draft  on  London  for  what  netted 
about  forty-five  thousand  dollars.  The  letter  re 
quested  that  I  would  collect  the  draft,  and  pay 
twenty  thousand  and  interest  to  whoever  was  entitled 
to  it,  and  one  thousand  and  interest  to  Wilder,  for  the 
money  he  had  advanced  to  get  Pritchett  out  of  the 
country.  The  balance  I  was  to  retain  for  my  services 
in  a  certain  case,  for  which  I  had  probably  never  re 
ceived  any  compensation.  I  executed  the  trusts,  and 
sent  a  detailed  account,  with  vouchers  to  Pritchett. 
Those  he  acknowledged,  and  that  is  the  last  I  have 
heard  of  him." 

"  How  do  you  suppose  he  had  made  so  much 
money?" 

"  By  trade  in  China.  The  drafts  were  from  a  China 
house,  on  its  corresponding  house  in  London,  and 
Pritchett's  letters  were  from  Hong  Kong.  That  re 
imbursement  shows  that  the  man  was  not  altogether 
bad ;  but  if  I  had  not  brought  him  up  with  a  round 
turn,  he  would  have  inevitably  gone  to  destruction. 
Now,  Dick,  you  know  the  origin  of  Mrs.  Wilder's  re 
pugnance  to  me.  But  it  is  more  than  repugnance. 
It  has  been  for  fifteen  years,  hatred,  smouldering  but 
intense,  and  it  broke  into  a  blaze  when,  after  her 
husband's  death,  she  discovered  that  he  had  left  her 


24  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

only  a  third  of  his  property.  She  had  expected  to 
have  the  whole,  and  she  thinks  that  my  advice 
prevented  it ;  and  to  retaliate  upon  me,  she  will, 
if  she  can,  break  tip  your  relations  with  Charlotte. 
Now  you  know  what  to  expect.  But  if  Charlotte 
loves  you  as  she  ought,  she  will  marry  you  whether 
her  mother  consents  or  not.  So  go  to  college,  then 
come  into  my  office  and  study  law,  and  as  soon  as  you 
are  admitted,  I  will  give  you,  as  I  did  your  father, 
three-fourths  of  the  profits,  and  you  can  marry 
Charlotte." 

"  Did  you  give  my  father  three-fourths  of  your  busi 
ness,.  Uncle  Rob  ?  Why !  he  was  ten  years  younger 
than  you." 

"  What  of  that,  Dick  ?  He  couldn't  have  sup 
ported  a  wife  on  less ;  and  if  he  hadn't  married  your 
mother,  you  wouldn't  be  here  to  comfort  me  now. 
So,  you  see  it  was  a  good  business  operation.  But  if 
you  should  object  to  such  an  arrangement  on  the 
score  of  my  greater  age,  why,  we'll  have  all  things  in 
common,  and  no  division  at  all ;  you'll  live  with  me, 
and  I'll  live  with  you  ;  and  with  you  and  Lottie — 
both  of  my  children  together — I  shouldn't  ask  any 
thing  more  of  this  world,  nor  give  much  thought  to 
any  other." 

"  There  never  was  so  generous,  true,  and  noble  a 
heart  as  yours,  Uncle,"  said  the  youth,  warmly  ;  "and 
if  I  should  live  to  be  a  hundred,  I  couldn't  pay  you 
for  all  your  goodness  to  me." 

<(  Pay,  Dick  !  I  get  my  pay  every  day — principal 
and  compound  interest." 


RETROSPECTIVE.  25 

"Well,  we  shall  live  together  always,  Uncle,"  said 
the  young  man,  "  and  Lottie  and  I  will  try  to  be  a 
comfort  to  your  old  age.  She  loves  you  as  I  do.  But 
will  you  let  me  tell  you  that  she  and  I  have  talked 
over  things,  and  she  thinks  it  would  help  to  mollify 
her  mother  if  I  should  go  into  business.  And  Lottie 
wants  to  conciliate  her,  if  we  can.  Now,  Jack 
Henshaw  told  me  the  other  day  that  his  father  was 
looking  about  for  a  young  man  as  an  apprentice  in  his 
counting-house.  Would  you  mind  speaking  to  Mr. 
Henshaw  ?  You  know  it's  a  big  China  house,  and  an 
apprenticeship  means  a  copartnership  at  twenty-one, 
if  a  young  man  shows  business  talent,  and  is  worthy.1' 

"  I  know,  Dick,"  said  the  uncle,  slowly  and  thought 
fully.  "  And  I  know  Henshaw — we  were  at  Harvard 
together — I  will  speak  to  him,  and  then  we  will  weigh 
all  the  pros  and  cons  before  coming  to  a  decision." 


CHAPTER   III. 

STORM   IN   MIDSUMMER. 

THE  result  of  the  interview  had  by  the  older  Mr. 
Thorndike  with  Mr.  Henshaw,  and  of  a  subsequent 
conference  between  uncle  and  nephew,  was  that  the 
young  man  was  at  once  admitted  as  a  junior  clerk 
in  the  great  China  house  of  Henshaw  &  Co.  In 
accordance  with  the  custom  of  the  time,  he  was  to 
receive  merely  a  nominal  salary  till  he  became  of  age^ 
but  then  an  interest  in  the  firm,  should  he  in  the 
meanwhile  have  shown  the  requisite  business  ability, 
and  proved  himself  worthy  of  the  confidence  of  his 
employers.  The  arrangement  seemed  to  assure  to 
Richard  a  liberal  income,  a  respectable  position  when 
he  should  have  arrived  at  manhood,  and  a  fortune  not 
many  years  thereafter ;  for  the  few  great  houses  that 
in  those  days  controlled  the  trade  of  Boston  with 
China,  were  mines  of  gold  to  their  owners. 

It  is  said  that  "  the  course  of  true  love  never  did  run 
smooth  ;  "  but  now,  for  nearly  four  years,  not  a  single 
ripple  disturbed  the  placid  stream  that  was  bearing 
the  two  young  people  on  to  the  unknown  hereafter. 
In  consequence  of  some  prenatal  contrivance  which 
adapts  souls  to  one  another,  their  hearts  had  been 


A   STORM   IN    MIDSUMMER.  27 

from  the  first  like  the  twin  notes  of  some  perfectly- 
toned  instrument ;  but  now,  day  by  day,  their  natures 
struck  a  deeper  chord,  and  evolved  a  more  delightful 
harmony. 

The  result  to  Charlotte  was  a  constant  joy  that  did 
not  escape  the  observation  of  her  mother.  It  may 
have  been  this  which  reconciled  Mrs.  Wilder  to  her 
daughter's  union  with  a  hated  Thorndike  ;  or  it  may 
have  been  the  thought  that  a  partner  in  a  great  com 
mercial  house  was  a  far  more  desirable  husband  than 
the  penniless  scion  of  a  musty  old  Puritan — even  one 
who  had  been  among  the  first  Englishmen  to  set 
foot  in  Boston  Harbor.  Whatever  the  cause,  her 
demeanor  to  the  young  man  became  courteous,  if  not 
exactly  cordial.  They  met  but  seldom,  but  when 
they  did  meet  she  was  studiously  polite  ,  though  now 
and  then  the  young  man  detected  that  it  cost  her  a 
struggle  to  repress  some  manifestation  of  an  inward 
repugnance.  This  he  mentioned  to  his  uncle,  saying, 
"  She  evidently  does  not  like  me,  but  that  gives  me 
no  concern.  Every  day  the  partners  show  me  more 
decided  marks  of  favor  ;  so  my  future  is  sure,  and 
whether  she  is  willing  or  not,  the  day  I  am  twenty-one 
I  shall  marry  Lottie." 

Had  he,  in  some  idle  hour,  pondered  those  words  of 
Thomas  a  Kempis,  "Man  proposes,  but  God  dis 
poses,"  he.  might  have  spoken  less  confidently  of  a 
thing  subject  to  so  many  contingencies  as  the  future 
of  every  dweller  on  this  unstable  planet. 

He  was  accustomed  to  ride  home  with  his  uncle  in 
the  old-fashioned  gig — for  this  was  before  the  day 


23  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

when  the  street  railways,  like  the  spokes  of  some 
gigantic  wheel,  ramified  in  all  directions  from  the 
"hub  of  the  universe" — and  they  met  to  go  out 
together  at  the  stable  in  Franklin  Street.  The  uncle 
was  a  man  of  most  buoyant  spirits,  and  never  met  the 
nephew  without  a  greeting  that  was  well-nigh  hilari 
ous;  but  one  summer  afternoon  when  the  young  man 
was  nearly  twenty,  and  had  been  about  four  years 
with  Henshaw  &  Co.,  the  older  gentleman  came  to  the 
rendezvous  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  a  dejected  counte 
nance.  The  young  man  noticed  his  altered  mien,  but 
said  nothing,  and  they  rode  on  in  silence  till  they  had 
left  the  pavement  behind  them,  and  entered  upon  the 
direct  road  to  Dorchester.  Then  the  young  man 
spoke.  "  What  is  it  Uncle  Rob  ? "  he  said,  "  you 
never  keep  anything  from  me — what  is  it  that  troubles 
you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,  Dick,"  answered  the 
uncle,  "  it  will  be  such  a  blow.  And  it  was  only  last 
night  that  you  were  saying  't  would  be  only  a  year 
before  we  should  have  Charlotte  with  us  in  the  old 
home.  It  will  break  my  heart  if  we  don't — it  will 
break  my  heart." 

"  It  can't  be  so  bad  as  that,"  said  the  young  man 
somewhat  startled,  but  still  with  the  collected  manner 
habitual  to  him.  "  But  tell  me,  Uncle.  Don't  keep 
me  in  suspense." 

"  Well,"  answered  the  uncle,  giving  the  old  gray  a 
smart  stroke  with  the  whip — a  thing  he  was  never 
known  to  do  before — "  Henshaw  came  to  see  me  this 
morning.  He  is  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy.  The 


A   STORM   IN    MIDSUMMER.  29 

great  house  which  has  weathered  the  storms  of  seventy 
years  has  to  go  down  at  last.  Heavy  losses  at  sea, 
and  the  recent  failure  of  his  London  correspondent, 
make  it  impossible  for  the  firm  to  go  on  without  help 
to  the  extent  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  He  has 
tried  every  way  to  raise  the  money,  and  failed,  and  all 
the  day  I  have  been  at  work  for  him  among  my 
friends ;  but  it  is  hard  to  raise  so  much  on  the  bottomry 
of  ships  that  are  scattered  over  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe.  I  fear  it  can't  be  done.  The  Cunard  steamer 
is  due  to-morrow.  If  she  brings  back  Henshaw's  pro 
tested  drafts  on  London,  and  he  don't  take  them  up 
before  the  bank  closes,  the  old  house  has  failed." 

"Failed!"  exclaimed  the  nephew.  "Why,  Uncle 
Rob,  this  is  terrible.  But  the  lost  ships  were  insured 
for  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand — can't  that  be 
realized?  " 

"  Not  in  time.  I  have  been  to  the  Company  to-day, 
and  they  claim  the  sixty  days.  I  saw  where  the  pinch 
was — they  haven't  the  money — and  I  offered  to  take 
securities  ;  but  they  refused  to  give  them — perempto 
rily.  I  have  a  faint  glimmer  of  a  hope  for  fifty  thou 
sand  to-morrow,  and  that  would  tide  things  over  to 
another  steamer :  but  if  it  doesn't  come,  the  old  firm 
is  gone.  Henshaw  knew  the  London  house  was  shaky, 
and  ever  since  the  ships  were  lost,  has  seen  this  com 
ing,  and  done  all  that  man  could  do  to  avert  it ;  but  he 
has  got  to  the  length  of  his  tether — with  the  worry 
and  suspense  he  is  now  completely  broken  down.  He 
neither  eats  nor  sleeps,  and  has  walked  my  office 
nearly  all  day  like  a  crazy  man." 


30  THE   LAST   OF  THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

"  And  he  has  always  been  so  kind  to  me !  "  said 
Richard,  the  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  Can't  you  in  some 
way,  force  the  insurance  company  to  give  you  some 
thing  on  which  the  money  can  be  raised  against 
the  steamer's  arrival  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't,  Dick.  I  have  tried,  but  they  are 
entitled  to  sixty  days  grace,  and  their  hearts  are  harder 
than  flint.  I  shall  do  all  I  can  for  him  for  your  sake, 
and  because  he  has  always  been  so  kind  to  you — and 
you  don't  know  how  kind.  Why,  Dick,  in  the  very 
midst  of  his  own  troubles,  when  his  failure  seemed  to 
him  inevitable,  he  set  on  foot  negotiations  for  you  with 
Lamson  &  Co.,  the  great  house  in  New  York  and 
Hong  Kong.  It  appears  that  the  head  of  the  house 
lives  in  China,  and  means  to  soon  retire,  and  he  has 
written  the  New  York  firm  to  send  him  out  a  young 
man  he  can  train  to  step  into  his  shoes.  Henshaw 
knows  them  intimately,  and  what  he  has  said  of  you 
has  led  them  to  offer  you  a  tremendous  salary  till  you 
are  of  age,  and  then  a  copartnership — such  a  share, 
Henshaw  says,  as  will  amount  to  three  times  what  he 
could  do  for  you,  even  if  he  should  weather  the 
storm." 

"  That  is  very  kind  of  Mr.  Henshaw,  Uncle,"  said 
the  young  man,  "but  I  don't  want  to  go  to  China — to 
leave  you  and  Lottie." 

"  Neither  do  I  want  you  to  go,  Dick ;  and  I've 
felt  sure  you'd  refuse,  and  am  glad  you  do.  But  here 
we  are  at  Wilders',  and  there  is  Lottie  at  the  little 
wicket." 

"  Let   me  stop,  uncle,"  said  Richard,  "  and  ask  her 


A   STORM   IN   MIDSUMMER.  31 

over  to  the  house  this  evening.  I  want  to  talk  all 
this  over  with  her." 

The  evening  found  the  three  seated  in  the  library  of 
the  older  Thorndike,  he  in  his  high-backed  chair,  his 
dog  curled  up  at  his  feet ;  his  nephew  opposite,  and 
the  young  woman  upon  a  near-by  lounge,  with  a 
brace  of  kittens — the  grandchildren  of  the  previous 
pair — purring  upon  her  lap.  She  was  not  what  is 
ordinarily  accounted  beautiful,  yet  she  had  wavy 
auburn  hair,  a  clear  broad  forehead,  regular  and  flex 
ible  features,  and  eyes  of  marvellous  depth  and  color, 
out  of  which,  in  repose,  shone  a  spiritual  light,  a  gen 
tle  serenity,  that  irresistibly  attracted  the  beholder. 
She  listened  to  the  unwelcome  intelligence  without 
remark,  or  apparent  emotion,  but  when  the  young 
man  had  finished  the  statement,  she  said  to  him,  with 
a  look  of  peculiar  tenderness,  "  And  if  your  uncle 
should  fail  to  get  the  money  to-morrow,  what  then, 
Dickon?" 

"Then  I  can  see  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  go  to 
China,"  answered  Richard.  "If  I  should  go,  I  could 
come  back  in  five  years  with  a  moderate  fortune.  In 
the  great  goodness  of  his  heart,  Uncle  Rob  proposes 
we  should  all  live  here,  and  upon  his  income  ;  but 
that,  Lottie,  I  could  never  do.  It  is  time  I  was  a 
help  to  him,  not  a  burden  as  I  have  been." 

"  But  you  forget,  Dickon,"  she  said  in  a  gentle  tone, 
"that  in  but  little  more  than  two  years  I  shall  come 
into  my  property.  Then  it  will  all  be  yours,  and  be 
enough  to  maintain  us  all,  even  if  you  are  not  in 
business." 


32  THE   LAST   OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

"That  would  be  worse  than  living  upon  Uncle 
Rob,"  said  the  young  man.  "  To  say  nothing  of  your 
mother,  I  should  have  the  entire  community  styling 
me  a  mere  fortune-hunter." 

She  knew  him  too  well  to  argue  with  him  upon  a 
subject  which  he  deemed  to  concern  his  manliness, 
and  she  merely  said,  "  Well,  we  must  patiently  wait 
the  result  of  to-morrow.  But,  if  it  is  unfavorable,  we 
must  find  some  way  to  avoid  your  going  to  China." 

Not  to  be  out  so  late  as  to  excite  remark  from  her 
mother,  she  soon  afterwards  returned  to  her  home, 
and  as  he  left  her  at  her  mother's  door,  she  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  said  to  him,  almost  sobbing 
"  Oh  !  I  cannot  let  you  go,  Dickon.  Let  me  come  to 
your  uncle's  to-morrow  evening ;  and  promise  me  now 
that  you  will  not  go,  if  I  am  not  willing." 

He  made  the  promise,  and  then  left  her  to  pray  to 
the  good  Lord  all  through  the  night,  not  to  take  him 
from  her. 

The  kittens  were  asleep,  curled  up  together  on  the 
lounge,  the  dog  was  in  his  accustomed  place  at  his 
master's  feet,  and  the  young  man  sat  in  a  near-by 
chair,  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  absorbed  in  gloomy 
reflections,  when  she  entered  the  library  on  the  follow 
ing  evening.  He  rose  as  she  came  into  the  room,  and 
leading  her  to  a  chair,  said,  "There  is  no  good  news, 
Lottie.  The  money  could  not  be  got,  and  the 
steamer  having  come  in,  Henshaw  &  Co.  have  gone  to 
protest.  Before  we  left  town  they  had  made  to  Uncle 
Rob  an  assignment  in  bankruptcy." 


A   STORM    IN   MIDSUMMER.  33 

"  I  knew  the  firm  had  failed,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"  Mr.  Cravan  heard  of  it  as  soon  as  the  banks  closed, 
and  rode  out  at  once  to  tell  mother.  She  has  for 
bidden  my  having  any  further  relations  with  you." 

Before  the  young  man  could  reply  to  this  remark, 
the  older  gentleman  said:  "Dick  is  just  like  his 
father,  Lottie,  proud  as  Lucifer.  He  won't  bring  a 
wife  here,  and  live  on  the  common  stock,  and  he 
won't  have  it  said  that  he  marries  for  money.  Now, 
what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Let  me  go  to  China,"  said  the  young  man,  answer 
ing  the  question. 

"  But  you've  promised  me  you  would  not,  if  I'm 
not  willing,"  said  the  young  woman. 

"And  I  will  not,"  he  answered  ;  "but  think  of  it, 
Lottie.  I  can  return  in  five  years  with  money  enough 
to  establish  me  here  in  business.  The  time  will  soon 
go  away,  and  then  I  can  marry  you,  and  feel  that  I  am 
a  man.  Your  mother  will  now  give  you  no  peace,  if  I 
am  anywhere  in  the  country.  If  I  go  away,  she  may 
think  you'll  forget  me." 

"  And  will  you  not  forget  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Never,  Lottie." 

"  All  this  is  very  fine,"  now  said  the  uncle;  "but 
what  will  become  of  me?  You  don't  think  of  me,  my 
children." 

"  You  will  have  me,  Uncle,"  said  the  young  woman, 
moving  to  a  chair  nearer  the  older  gentleman,  and  look 
ing  up  lovingly  in  his  face.  "  I  will  come  to  you 
every  day,  and  Richard  will  be  away  only  five  years. 
3 


34  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

He  will  be  only  twenty-five,  and  I  twenty-four  when 
he  comes  back." 

"  But  five  years  is  a  long  time,  and  I  may  be  in  my 
grave  be'fore  he  returns,"  said  the  older  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike.  "  Let  me  tell  you  a  better  way,  children.  I  have 
this  house  and  a  good  practice.  I  give  away  too  much, 
and  waste  a  good  deal  upon  knick-knacks,  but  that  I 
can  remedy.  With  moderate  economy,  my  income 
will  be  enough  to  keep  us  all.  Dick  has  the  little  his 
father  left  him,  and,  if  anything  should  happen  to  me, 
that  would  provide  for  you  both  for  a  time.  Mean 
while  I'll  find  some  one  with  capital  to  start  with  him 
in  a  new  business.  You  shall  marry  him  at  once,  my 
pretty  one,  and  come  here  and  be  mistress  of  the 
house.  It  shall  all  be  yours." 

Springing  to  her  feet,  she  clasped  her  arms  tightly 
about  his  neck,  and  in  a  burst  of  half  tears,  half  laugh 
ter,  and  all  tenderness,  exclaimed,  "  Haven't  I  said 
you  are  the  best  and  dearest  uncle  in  all  the  world  ! 
I'll  come,  and  I'll  darn  your  stockings,  and  brush  your 
clothes,  and  dust  your  books,  and  keep  your  papers  in 
order,  and  have  your  slippers  always  ready  for  you  by 
the  lounge,  and— 

"  And  feed  the  kittens,  and  pet  the  dog,  and  fondle 
the  rabbits,  and  hug  the  old  fellow  so  tight  when  he 
comes  home  that  he'll  scarcely  have  breath  enough  to 
thank  God  for  giving  him  such  a  child  to  bless  his  last 
days,"  cried  the  older  gentleman,  the  tears  coming 
into  his  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  woman,  "and  then,  Dickon, 


A   STORM   IN   MIDSUMMER.  35 

you'll  come  home  and  call  me  your  little  wife,  and  we 
shall  be  so,  so  happy." 

Very  beautiful  was  she  as  she  said  this — her  face 
all  aglow,  and  her  great  hazel  eyes  beaming  on  him 
with  unutterable  affection.  Truly,  love  is  of  God,  and 
"  he  that  loveth  not  knoweth  not  God,  for  God  is  love." 

At  this  moment  a  knock  came  at  the  front  door,  and 
a  moment  later  a  servant  announced,  "  Mrs.  Wilder." 
Charlotte  sprang  to  a  chair  by  the  side  of  Richard, 
and  at  that  instant  her  mother  entered  the  apartment. 
A  thin  shawl  was  thrown  loosely  over  her  head,  and 
she  wore  a  stiff  ruff,  and  a  plain  muslin  gown  suitable 
to  the  season.  In  the  very  noon  of  life,  a  little  taller 
than  her  daughter,  with  a  well  developed  form,  a  wavy 
mass  of  grayish  hair,  and  large  gray  eyes  which  now 
were  bent  upon  the  older  gentleman  with  a  mingled 
look  of  scorn  and  indignation,  she  seemed  what  she 
was,  a  woman  born  to  command — a  husband  or  a  regi 
ment.  "  Well,  sir,"  she  said,  pausing  on  the  threshold 
of  the  room,  "things  have  come  to  a  pretty  pass 
when  you,  who  profess  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  my 
dead  husband's  friend,  make  your  house  a  rendezvous 
for  these  young  people." 

An  indescribable  expression  came  on  Robert  Thorn- 
dike's  face,  but  he  answered  in  a  tone  of  gentle  rail 
lery,  "  And  why  not,  madam  ?  Pray  be  seated.  Is 
not  my  house  my  nephew's  home  ?  In  what  other 
place  should  he  receive  his  friends?" 

"  His  friends  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  A  silly  girl  who 
imagines  herself  in  love  with  a  penniless  boy.  You  do 
wrong,  sir,  to  encourage  such  nonsense." 


36  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  Why  so,  madam  ?  I  beg  you  to  be  seated.  Let 
us  discuss  this  subject  with  proper  deliberation." 

With  evident  reluctance  the  lady  took  the  proffered 
chair,  and  in  the  same  strain  of  badinage  the  older 
Thorndike  went  on.  "  Pardon  me,  madam  ;  what 
wrong  is  there  in  two  young  people  loving  one  an 
other?  Is  it  not  eminently  proper  and  natural  that 
they  should  ?  Did  not  you  and  I  love  somebody 
when  we  were  young  ?  Does  not  love  animate  the 
whole  creation  ?  Does  not  the  acid  rush  into  the  arms 
of  the  alkali,  the  sun  every  morning  wed  the  earth, 
and  all  animal  and  vegetable  life  result  from  the 
marriage?  Even  the  imponderable  forces  show  the 
same  loving  affinity — the  two  poles  of  electricity  have 
a  tender  affection  for  each  other,  and  you  have  fre 
quently  witnessed  their  wedding  solemnities  when 
they  come  together  in  the  clouds  with  such  a  letting 
off  of  fireworks  as  ought  to  startle  us  out  of  our  incre 
dulity  in  the  mighty  affinities  of  all  created  things." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  the  widow,  tapping  the  floor 
impatiently  with  her  foot,  "  I  did  not  come  here  to 
listen  to  a  discourse  on  metaphysics." 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  did,  madam,"  he  responded, 
with  the  same  imperturbable  manner.  "  I  don't  sup 
pose  you  did  ;  but  I  want  you  to  understand  this  sub 
ject,  and  therefore  I  will  come  down  a  little  in 
my  illustrations.  Do  you  observe  these  two  little 
kittens?" 

"  Kittens,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  the  lady  with  a  scornful 
toss  of  the  head.  "  A  dissertation  upon  kittens  i 
Really,  Mr.  Thorndike,  you  must  excuse  me." 


A   STORM    IN   MIDSUMMER.  37 

"  If  I  do,  madam,  you'll  be  the  loser — they  are  ex 
ceedingly  interesting." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Wilder,  smiling  now  in 
spite  of  herself,  "  I  do  not  see  any  kittens — I  see  a 
cat." 

"  That  is  precisely  the  point,  madam,  and  it  illus 
trates  what  I  would  say  perfectly.  It  is  not  a  cat, 
but  two  kittens,  nestled  so  closely  together  that  from 
where  you  sit,  they  seem  not  two  but  one.  Be  good 
enough  to  draw  your  chair  a  trifle  nearer,  and  you  will 
perceive  that  what  I  say  is  so,  and  the  sight  will  pay 
you  for  the  trouble.  They  are  as  good  as  any  menag 
erie  you  ever  witnessed." 

With  a  curious  expression  of  face,  as  if  undecided 
whether  to  be  amused  or  offended,  Mrs.  Wilder  drew 
her  chair  somewhat  nearer  to  the  lounge,  and  looked 
closely  at  the  sleeping  kittens. 

"Thank  you,  madam,"  said  the  older  gentleman. 
"  Now,  please  to  observe  that  his  arm  is  about  her 
neck,  and  her  head  upon  his  breast.  I  will  wake  them, 
and  have  them  tell  you  what  they  think  of  one  another 
—for  they  can  talk." 

"Talk,  sir!"  echoed  Mrs.  Wilder,  becoming  really 
interested. 

"Yes,  madam;  but  not  having  the  organs  of  speech, 
they  talk  with  their  tails.  One  wag  is  simple  assent, 
two  wags  are  emphatic,  and  three  are  decidedly  em 
phatic.  I  will  wake  them  now,  and  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  let  me  carry  on  the  conversation,  for  they 
will  pay  no  attention  to  strangers.  First,  the  gentle 
man  kitten  will  look  up  to  me  and  smile  and  then 

447276 


38  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

lovingly  embrace  the  partner  of  his  bosom.  Now, 
Dick,  my  boy,  wake  up." 

The  little  cat  opened  its  eyes,  looked  up  at  its  mas 
ter,  and  displayed  its  teeth  in  a  very  respectable  grin. 

"  Now,  sir,  salute  your  wife,"  said  Mr.  Thorndike ; 
and  Dick  rubbed  his  nose  against  that  of  his  part 
ner  in  a  very  affectionate  manner. 

"  Now,  tell  me,  do  you  love  your  wife?" 

The  kitten  answered  with  a  single  wag  of  its  tail. 

"  How  much  do  you  love  your  wife  ?" 

Three  decided  shakes  of  the  tail  answered  this 
question. 

"  Now,  my  pretty  one,  do  you  love  Dick  very 
much?  " 

The  feline  lady  gave  three  hearty  wags  of  the  tail, 
put  her  forepaws  about  Dick's  neck,  and  laid  her  head 
again  upon  his  breast. 

"  It  is  wonderful,  very  wonderful,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wilder,  "  to  think  that  brute  creatures  can  be  made  to 
act  so  like  human  beings." 

"Not  so  wonderful,  madam,"  rejoined  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike,  "as  that  reasonable  creatures  should  so  often  act 
like  fools.  We  go  counter  to  nature  ;  they  act  with 
it.  We  try  to  keep  our  young  folks  apart ;  they  come 
together  almost  as  soon  as  they  open  their  eyes,  and 
they  never  ask  if  one  or  the  other  has  more  or  less  of 
worldly  advantages — all  they  ask  is  a  loving  heart." 

Fearing  that  Mrs.  Wilder  was  about  to  take  offence 
at  his  uncle's  badinage,  Richard  now  remarked  :  "  Mrs. 
Wilder,  you  complain  of  my  uncle's  allowing  me  to 
meet  Charlotte  at  his  house.  Permit  me  to  say  that 


A   STORM   IN   MIDSUMMER.  39 

she  came  at  my  request,  to  decide  with  me  a  subject 
of  the  utmost  importance  to  both  of  us,  and  I  am  very 
glad  that  you  have  come  in  upon  our  interview." 

"  Indeed,  sir  !  "  said  the  lady. 

This  was  said  with  a  quiet  disdain,  but  giving  no 
heed  to  her  manner,  the  young  man  continued  in  a 
firm  but  respectful  tone :  "  Yes,  madam,  and  the  de 
cision  rests  with  you.  I  am  deliberating  about  going 
to  China,  to  be  away  five  years.  I  shall  then  be  able 
to  return  with  enough  to  start  me  well  in  the  world 
here,  and  to  maintain  your  daughter  in  the  style  to 
which  she  has  been  accustomed.  Lottie  consenting,  I 
shall  go,  if  you  agree  to  certain  conditions." 

"  And  what  are  the  conditions?"  she  asked. 

"  That  you  will  not,  while  I  am  away,  force  upon 
Charlotte  the  attentions  of  any  young  man — not  deny 
ing  her  the  society  of  gentlemen,  but  leaving  her  free 
to  choose  for  herself.  And  that  you  will  not  mention 
me  to  her  during  my  absence.  Give  me  your  word  to 
this,  and  I  will  set  out  within  a  fortnight." 

"  And  what  if  I  do  not  consent  to  these  conditions  ?  " 

"  Then  I  shall  marry  Charlotte  as  soon  as  I  can  find 
a  clergyman  to  perform  the  ceremony — to-night,  if 
there  is  no  legal  impediment." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  this,  young  woman  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Wilder,  turning  imperiously  to  her  daughter. 

Charlotte,  paying  no  attention  to  her  mother's  ques 
tion,  grasped  the  hand  of  Richard,  saying,  "  Will  you 
go  so  far  away,  for  five  long  years,  when  we  can  live 
here,  and  be  so — so  very  happy?  " 

"  What  would  you !  "    cried    her   mother,   her   eyes 


4<D  THE    LAST   OF   THE    THORNDIKES. 

actually  blazing.  "Would  you  marry  a  pauper? 
Do  not  count  on  supporting  him.  I  shall  see  that  you 
do  not  touch  a  dollar  of  your  father's  property." 

The  daughter  still  gave  no  heed  to  the  mother;  but 
the  older  Mr.  T horndikc  said,  coolly  :  "  Madam,  you 
are  agitating  yourself  unwisely.  Nothing  so  exhausts 
the  vital  forces  as  angry  excitement." 

The  widow  seemed  for  a  moment  about  to  give  way 
to  a  burst  of  rage,  but  restraining  herself,  and  rising 
suddenly  to  her  feet,  she  said  calmly,  "  Well,  sir,  you 
can  go.  I  assent  to  your  conditions.  Now,  Lottie, 
come  home  with  your  mother." 

The  younger  woman  also  rose,  and  as  she  turned  to 
her  mother  her  large  hazel  eyes  dilated  with  a  look 
that  was  indescribable.  It  was  neither  anger  nor  dis 
dain,  but  simply  the  assertion  of  her  womanhood.  In 
a  firm  but  quiet  tone,  she  said,  "  Mother,  you  have 
bargained  with  Richard  as  if  my  very  soul  was  at  your 
disposal.  You  forget  that  I  am  no  longer  a  child, 
but  a  woman.  As  a  child  I  have  given  you  all  daugh 
terly  duty ;  as  a  woman  my  duty  is  now  to  him — my 
affianced  husband.  Whether  he  goes  or  stays  will  be 
as  we  decide,  not  as  you  dictate.  I  trust  he  will  not 
go :  but  if  he  should,  you  will  do  well  to  observe  his 
conditions." 

The  face  of  the  older  woman  showed  at  first  simple, 
blank  amazement ;  but  a  kind  of  fierce  scorn  suc 
ceeded,  as  she  answered:  "And,  Miss,  suppose  I 
should  forget  the  conditions — what  then  ?" 

"  Then  I  should  leave  your  house,"  she  answered. 
"  Now  you  understand  me.  It  is  not  necessary  to  say 


A   STORM    IN    MIDSUMMER.  4! 

any  more  about  it.  I  will  be  home  shortly.  For  a 
time  I  shall  remain  here  with  my  future  husband." 

Mrs.  Wilder,  turned,  and  without  a  word  took  a  few 
steps  toward  the  door.  The  older  gentleman  rose, 
and  with  his  usual  gallantry,  said  :  "  Madam,  allow  me 
to  escort  you  home — it  is  quite  dark." 

With  an  impatient  gesture  she  motioned  him  away, 
saying,  "  No,  no,  sir.  I  can  find  my  way  alone.  It  is 
dark,  but  I  can  find  my  way  alone."  Then  with  a  sort 
of  dazed  look,  as  if  smitten  by  some  unseen  hand,  she 
went  through  the  hall  and  out  of  the  front  door 
way. 

She  was  no  sooner  gone  than  Charlotte,  the  moment 
before  so  queenly  in  her  womanhood,  sank  down  at 
the  feet  of  Richard,  and  clasping  her  two  hands  about 
his  knees,  sobbed  out,  "  Oh  !  Dickon,  Dickon,  can  you 
— will  you  go  so  far  away,  and  leave  me  here  all,  all 
alone?"  Then  her  head  sank  upon  his  lap,  and  she 
burst  into  a  fit  of  hysterical  weeping. 

The  older  gentleman  turned  away,  as  if  to  hide  his 
emotion,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  Dick,  is  your  heart 
stone  ?  Can  you  refuse  the  poor  girl  and  your  old 
uncle?" 

The  younger  man  lifted  the  prostrate  girl  from  the 
floor,  but  her  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder,  and  like  a 
pained  child  she  moaned,  "  Dickon,  oh  !  Dickon." 

For  a  moment  pride  and  love  seemed  struggling 
within  him  for  the  mastery, — self-centred  pride,  that 
cast  the  angels  down,  unselfish  love,  which  raises  fallen 
man  up  to  a  level  with  the  unfallen  angels.  For  a 


42  THE    LAST    OF    THE    T1IORNDIKES. 

moment  the  balance  hung  even  ;  then  love  turned  the 
scale,  and  he  said  :  "  I  will  stay,  Lottie.  If  you  say 
so,  I  will  stay."  Her  tears  ceased  to  flow,  and  her 
arms  wound  themselves  about  his  neck,  while  his 
uncle  said,  "  God  bless  you,  my  boy.  You  have 
made  me  the  happiest  old  fellow  in  all  the  world." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

AT  THE   ANTIPODES. 

As  Richard  and  his  uncle  rode  by  the  garden  gate  of 
the  Wilder  mansion,  on  their  return  from  town  on  the 
following  day,  Charlotte  came  out  into  the  road  to 
meet  them.  After  the  usual  greetings,  she  said  to  the 
young  man,  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Dickon. 
Won't  you  come  over  to  see  me  this  evening?" 

"Will  not  your  mother  object?  "  he  asked.  "  Is  it 
not  better  for  you  to  see  me  at  my  uncle's?  We  don't 
want  any  unpleasantness." 

"  There  will  be  none,"  she  answered.  "  Mother 
warned  me  this  morning  that  she  should  forbid  you  the 
house,  and  I  told  her  that  if  she  did,  I  should  leave  it 
— that  I  should  remain  nowhere  that  you  could  not 
come." 

The  conference  lasted  several  hours,  but  it  is  enough 
to  say  of  it  that  Charlotte  had  reflected  that  Richard 
had  consented  to  forego  the  China  engagement  in 
deference  to  her  wishes,  and  against  his  better  judg 
ment.  It  was  selfish  in  her,  she  thought,  to  exact  of 
him  such  a  sacrifice.  "  Therefore,"  she  said  to  him, 
"  you  had  better  go,  Dickon.  I  shall  not  come  into 
my  own  till  I  am  twenty-one.  Then  it  shall  be  yours, 


44  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

all  yours.  But  if  you  should  take  it,  constituted  as 
you  are,  you  would  probably  not  be  happy.  Mean 
while,  for  two  long  years  we  might  be  altogether 
dependent  upon  your  uncle.  That  neither  of  us 
would  like.  We  had  better  wait.  The  same  Provi 
dence  that  is  over  you  here  will  be  over  you  there,  and 
daily  I  shall  ask  Him  to  bring  you  back  to  me  in 
safety." 

On  the  following  day  Richard  notified  the  New 
York  house  of  Lamson  &  Co.,  of  his  acceptance  of 
their  proposal,  and  by  the  return  mail  he  was  informed 
that  the  ship  "John  Adams,"  belonging  to  the  firm, 
would  clear  for  Hong  Kong  in  about  ten  days,  and 
by  her  he  could  have  a  direct  passage  to  his  destina 
tion. 

I  need  not  recount  the  hurried  preparations  for  the 
voyage,  nor  the  feeling  of  utter  desolation  that  came 
upon  the  young  man  whenever  he  thought  of  the  five 
years  of  separation  from  home  and  all  he  loved.  All 
this,  and  his  frequent  interviews  with  Charlotte,  I  will 
pass  over,  and  speak  only  of  their  last  meeting  on  the 
eve  of  his  departure.  They  were  together  in  the 
library  of  her  mother's  house.  His  arm  was  about  her 
waist,  her  head  upon  his  breast,  when  gently  disengag 
ing  herself  she  said  to  him,  "  This  was  my  father's 
room,  Richard.  It  seems  to  me  always  filled  with  his 
spirit,  and  somehow,  I  feel  that  he  is  here  with  us 
now.  And  here,  darling,  in  his  presence  shall  we  not 
again  pledge  ourselves  to  one  another  ?  Will  you  not 
put  this  ring  upon  my  finger,  and  call  me  your  wife  ? 
I  will  put  this  other  upon  your  hand,  and  call  you  my 


AT   THE  ANTIPODES.  45 

husband  ;  and  you  shall  be  mine  forever,  and  I  will  be 
yours  forever;  and  if  you  should  be  lost  on  the  way, 
or  should  die  in  that  far-away  country,  I  will  weep  for 
you,  and  mourn  for  you,  and  wait  for  you,  until  I  can 
come  to  you  in  the  hereafter." 

He  strained  her  to  him  in  a  long  embrace,  and  then 
she  put  a  small  gold  locket  about  his  neck,  saying, 
"  Wear  this,  my  darling,  next  your  heart.  I  have 
your  picture  next  to  mine.  I  shall  look  at  it,  and 
pray  for  you  every  morning.  Will  you  not  look  at 
mine,  and  pray  for  me  at  the  same  time — which  will 
be  evening  in  the  far-away  world  to  which  you  are 
going." 

Again  he  folded  her  in  a  long  embrace,  and  then 
the  last  word  was  said,  and  the  last  kiss  was  taken. 

A  voyage  to  China  in  A.D.  1849,  was  not  wnat  it  is 
now,  when  steam  has  converted  it  into  a  mere  holiday 
excursion.  The  fastest  clippers  seldom  made  the  trip 
in  less  than  half  a  year,  and  they  were  sure  to  encoun 
ter  off  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  the  fierce  storms 
which  have  made  that  gateway  to  the  East  the  terror 
of  mariners  ever  since  Drake  first  doubled  it  three 
hundred  years  ago.  The  "  John  Adams  "  was  not  a 
clipper  ship,  nor  a  fast  sailer ;  but  she  was  a  stanch 
craft,  a  relic  of  those  days  when  speed  was  made 
subordinate  to  safety.  Had  she  not  been,  this  history 
would  not  be  written,  for  the  young  man  whose  career 
it  traces  would  have  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
before  his  experiences  in  this  world  had  been  worth 
recording. 


46  THE    LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

The  "  Adams "  lay  becalmed  off  the  Cape  for 
several  days,  and  in  her  company  were  two  other 
ships — the  "  Hope"  and  the  "  Penguin  " — bound  from 
China  for  New  York.  The  officers  exchanged  the 
customary  visits,  and  by  each  ship  Richard  wrote 
letters  home  to  his  uncle  and  to  Charlotte.  These 
dispatched,  he  longed  for  a  wind  to  speed  him  on  his 
way,  for  he  had  already  begun  to  count  the  months  as 
they  rolled  forward  into  his  five  years  of  exile.  At 
last  the  wind  came — a  violent  gale  that  set  in  one  day 
just  as  the  sun  went  down,  and  soon  increased  to  a 
furious  tempest,  in  which,  for  many  hours,  the  good 
ship  was  in  imminent  peril.  Richard  had  never  wit 
nessed  a  storm  at  sea,  and  no  persuasion  could  induce 
him  to  go  below,  for  he  was  entranced  by  the  fearful 
sublimity  of  the  scene.  The  sky  above  and  the  sea 
below  were  one  mass  of  blackness,  except  where  the 
ship  left  a  broad  trail  of  phosphorescent  fire.  Through 
this  blackness  every  now  and  then  the  lightning  leaped, 
revealing  the  tall  mountains  of  water  over  which  the 
good  ship  was  bounding,  now  slowly  climbing  the 
heaving  mounds,  then  pausing  an  instant,  to  gather 
breath  at  their  summits,  and  then  plunging  madly 
down  the  boiling  slopes,  as  if  to  bury  herself  in  the 
depths  below.  With  a  constant  howl  the  wind  swept 
through  the  dismantled  spars  and  torn  rigging,  but  now 
and  then  a  stronger  blast  would  strike  the  ship,  as  she 
mounted  the  crest  of  a  high  wave,  careening  her  over 
till  her  long  lower  yards  trailed  in  the  sea.  For  an 
instant  she  would  hang  thus,  nearly  upon  her  beam- 
ends  ;  but  then,  trembling  in  every  spar,  and  quiver- 


AT   THE   ANTIPODES.  47 

ing  in  every  beam,  she  would  gather  herself  up  from 
the  blow,  and  with  a  mighty  bound  leap  again  upon 
her  billowy  path,  and  plunge  again  down  the  great 
mountain  waves. 

Long  the  conflict  lasted,  hour  after  hour,  but  at 
last,  with  her  stanchions  torn  away,  her  mainmast 
and  fore-topmast  gone  by  the  board,  and  her  sails 
torn  into  a  thousand  ribbons,  and  whirled  off,  white 
streamers  on  the  waning  night,  the  sturdy  ship  saw 
the  slow  morning  break  upon  the  troubled  sea.  She 
was  a  battered  and  half-dismantled  thing,  but  she  still 
mounted  with  steady  stride  the  furious  waves,  and 
hurled  back  their  staggering  blows  from  her  stout- 
ribbed  sides. 

The  wind  began  to  die  away  with  the  dawn,  but  a 
thick  mist  hung  over  the  sea,  and  it  was  hours  before 
any  wide  view  could  be  had  across  the  waves,  which 
still  rose  and  fell  in  long  undulating  rollers  around  the 
gallant  ship.  At  last  the  fog  cleared,  and  as  they 
mounted  a  tall  billow  the  weary  mariners  on  the 
"  Adams  "  caught  sight  of  the  tall,  raking  masts  of 
the  clipper  "  Penguin,"  hull  down,  and  miles  away  on 
the  lee  bow.  But  her  companion  ship,  the  "  Hope," 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  With  all  on  board  she  had 
gone  down  in  that  fearful  night. 

At  last,  fully  two  months  over  due,  the  "  John 
Adams"  cast  anchor  in  the  port  of  Ho*ig  Kong,  and 
Richard  hurried  ashore  to  report  himself  at  the  count 
ing-house  of  his  new  employers.  There  he  found  let 
ters  from  home,  forwarded  by  ships  which  had  sailed 


48  •  THE   LAST   OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

later  than  the  "  Adams,"  but  had  arrived  at  Hong 
Kong  several  weeks  before  her. 

He  opened  them  in  the  order  of  their  dates.  The 
first  was  from  his  affianced,  and  told  only  of  her 
unwavering  affection.  She  had,  she  said,  felt  his 
absence,  but  somehow,  had  not  been  so  very  lonely. 
For  hours  together  she  had  sat  in  their  accustomed 
nook  on  the  western  veranda,  and,  closing  her  eyes, 
had  fancied  him  again  by  her  side,  and  no  doubt  he 
had  been  in  spirit,  for  she  had  felt  him  as  if  he  were  a 
living  presence. 

The  next  letter  was  from  his  uncle,  and  told  how 
much  he  had  been  missed  in  the  old  mansion.  "  I 
come  home  at  night,"  he  said,  "and  I've  only  Ponto 
and  the  kittens  for  company,  and,  my  dear  boy,  it  is  a 
little  dreary.  The  poor  dumb  things  seem  to  feel 
lonely,  too,  for  I  can  scarcely  drive  the  kittens  off  my 
knees,  and  Ponto  now  insists  on  sleeping  every  night 
in  my  room.  This  morning  he  followed  me  into  town, 
and  went  about  with  me  everywhere.  I  couldn't 
shake  him  off.  At  my  every  step  he  was  at  my  heels. 
Whatever  I  was  engaged  at  in  my  office,  he  was  near 
by,  his  eyes  fixed  on  mine  with  a  look  very  wistful 
and  sad,  which  said  as  plain  as  words :  '  Old  Master, 
I  know  what  is  the  matter  with  you — you're  thinking 
of  Dick.  He's  gone  away,  but  never  mind,  you've 
got  old  Ponto  yet.  He's  only  a  dog  to  be  sure;  but 
all  the  better  for  that,  for  dogs  can't  go  to  China. 
He'll  stick  to  you,  old  Master,  while  he  has  a  tail  to 
wag,  or  a  leg  to  stand  on.'  As  I  am  writing  now  at 
the  old  table  in  the  library,  the  old  fellow  is  curled  up 


AT   THE   ANTIPODES.  49 

at  my  feet,  and  the  two  kittens  are  perched  upon  my 
shoulders,  purring  their  old-fashioned  tune,  and,  now 
'  and  then  brushing  their  soft  coats  against  my  whiskers. 
There  is  no  use  to  argue  about  it,  Dick,  these  loving 
creatures  are  very  near  of  kin  to  all  decent  humanity." 
The  letter  closed  with  this  paragraph.  "  At  last, 
after  weeks  of  effort,  I  have  fixed  Henshaw  by  obtain 
ing  a  heavy  bottdmry  on  his  vessels,  and  the  old 
house  will  resume  to-morrow.  He  is  overjoyed,  and 
is  now  very  sorry  you  went  away ;  and  desires  me  to 
write  you  to  come  back,  if  you  don't  prefer  China. 
He  will,  undoubtedly,  do  very  handsomely  by  you. 
So,  my  dear  boy,  pack  up  your  traps,  and  take  the 
first  homeward-bound  ship.  A  little  girl  came  into 
town  with  me  this  morning,  and  is  looking  over  my 
shoulder  while  I  finish  this  at  my  office,  who  will  be 
quite  as  glad  to  see  you,  as  will  be 

Your  affectionate  Uncle." 

The  next  letter  was  by  a  ship  which  left  Boston 
twenty  days  later  than  the  foregoing.  It  was  from 
Charlotte,  and  when  the  young  man  had  read  only  the 
first  few  lines,  a  sudden  dizziness  came  over  him,  the 
paper  fell  from  his  hand,  and  he  sank  back  in  his  chair 
in  a  half  stupor.  By  a  great  effort  he  regained  con 
trol  of  himself,  and  finished  the  reading.  The  letter 
was  as  follows  : 

"  My  Dear,  Dear  Richard  : 

I  have  not  the  heart  to  tell  you,  but  I  must. 
Your  uncle  was  this  morning  thrown  from  his 
horse,  and  not  two  hours  ago  breathed  his  last  in  my 

4 


50  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

arms.  About  nine  o'clock  this  morning  Ponto  came 
rushing  up  to  my  room  like  a  mad  creature.  At  first 
I  thought  he  was  mad,  for  he  frothed  at  the  mouth, 
and  was  dripping  with  perspiration.  He  seized  hold 
of  my  dress,  and  tried  to  drag  me  to  the  door,  and 
then  it  occurred  to  me  that  something  was  amiss  at 
your  uncle's.  I  followed  Ponto.  He  did  not  go  home, 
but  led  me  almost  on  a  run  and  fully  half-a-mile  away, 
to  a  narrow  by-way  that  comes  down  the  hill  to 
Mount  Pleasant  Avenue.  There  a  crowd  had  gath 
ered  in  the  road,  and  there — Oh  !  Richard,  how  can  I 
tell  you  ? — by  the  side  of  the  path,  his  face  and  clothes 
soiled  with  blood,  lay  our  dear,  dear  uncle.  He  was 
insensible,  but  still  breathing.  He  had  bought  a  new 
horse  to  replace  Old  Gray,  who  had  died  only  a  few 
days  before,  and  was  riding  him  for  the  first  time  this 
morning.  The  horse  had  thrown  him  near  the  Avenue, 
and  had  dragged  him  by  the  stirrup  several  hundred 
yards  up  the  hill.  We  could  distinctly  trace  the  mark 
of  his  body  in  the  path,  all  of  that  distance.  A  man 
soon  came  by  with  an  empty  wagon,  and  he  kindly 
carried  him  to  the  house,  while  one  of  the  gentlemen 
ran  for  a  doctor,  to  be  there  by  the  time  we  should 
arrive.  I  sat  on  the  floor  of  the  wagon,  held  his  head 
on  my  lap,  and  fanned  him  the  whole  way,  but  he 
never  came  to  himself  till  we  had  laid  him  on  his  own 
bed,  in  his  own  chamber.  I  was  bending  over  him 
when  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  he  knew  me.  He 
moved  his  lips  as  if  to  speak,  and  when  I  bent  down 
to  hear,  he  put  his  arm  about  me,  kissed  me,  and 
called  me  his  little  darling.  I  told  him  it  might  hurt 


AT   THE   ANTIPODES.  5  I 

him  to  speak,  and  he  had  better  keep  silent ;  but  he 
smiled  and  said.  '  No,  my  darling,  I  am  past  being 
hurt — nothing  can  hurt  me  any  more.  Give  Richard 
my  love,  and  my  blessing,  and,  darling,  be  true  to  him, 
and  ' —  These  were  his  last  words.  Then  he  sank  into 
unconsciousness,  and  lay  so  for  fully  two  hours,  all  the 
while  breathing  heavily.  A  little  while  before  he  died, 
he  opened  his  eyes,  and  moved  his  lips  as  if  to  speak 
to  me,  but  he  could  not  articulate.  I  laid  my  head 
upon  his  breast,  and  he  put  one  arm  partly  about  me, 
and  smiled,  and  the  next  moment  passed  away.  I  felt 
his  heart  stop  suddenly,  so  I  knew  he  was  dead.  The 
doctor  was  there  all  the  while  ;  but  he  told  me  at  the 
first  that  he  was  beyond  human  help.  It  was  a  won 
der  he  came  to  himself  at  all. 

"  It  is  distressing  to  give  you  these  details;  but  I 
know  you  will  want  to  hear  every  particular.  Mr. 
Curtis  [his  law  partner]  was  at  the  house  when  he 
died,  and  will  help  me  about  the  funeral.  Aunt 
Hannah  [his  housekeeper]  is  so  crushed  by  the  sudden 
blow  that  she  cannot  be  depended  on  for  anything.  I 
shall  write  you  again  as  soon  as  the  funeral  is  over. 
Now,  I  have  only  strength  to  say,  that  I  am  your  own 
loving  LOTTIE." 

To  the  above  was  added  as  a  postscript :  "  Oh  ! 
Richard,  go  to  Jesus,  the  divine  Saviour.  He  feels 
for  us  in  all  our  sorrows,  and  He  only  can  give  us 
comfort  in  this  terrible  affliction." 

Charlotte's  next  letter  came  by  the  same  ship,  but 
was  dated  a  week  later  than  the  foregoing.  I  quote 


52  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

only  so  much  of  it  as  relates  to  the  death  of  the  older 
Mr.  Thorndike.  "  We  laid  him  away  in  the  ground 
ten  days  ago,"  she  wrote,  "  but  ever  since  I  have  not 
been  well  enough  to  write,  and  scarcely  able  to  lift 
my  head  from  my  pillow.  The  fatigue  and  anxiety, 
coming  so  soon  after  your  going  away,  overtaxed  my 
strength,  and  I  have  been  threatened  with  serious  ill 
ness.  Mr.  Curtis  is  very  kind,  and  has  helped  me 
much  about  the  funeral.  Indeed,  I  don't  know  what 
I  should  have  done  without  him.  All  of  Dorchester 
was  there,  and  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  house 
when  Dr.  Copeland,  who  officiated,  spoke  of  Uncle 
Rob's  unobtrusive  piety,  and  great  goodness  to  the 
poor.  More  than  five  hundred  people  went  with  us 
to  the  grave,  and  the  scene  there  was  very  affecting. 
Dr.  Copeland  read  the  beautiful  burial  service,  and 
while  the  body  was  being' lowered  into  the  ground,  a 
hymn  was  sung  in  which  every  one  joined  with  deep 
feeling.  And  I  must  tell  you  that  Ponto  followed  us 
to  the  grave,  and  when  we  were  about  to  come  away, 
stretched  himself  upon  it,  and  set  up  a  most  mournful 
howling.  Several  gentlemen  tried  to  get  him  away? 
but  he  would  not  stir  until  I  went  to  him,  and  coaxed 
him  with  me  into  the  carriage.  He  has  been  with 

o 

me  ever  since,  all  the  while  that  I  have  been  sick,  day 
and  night  in  my  chamber.  I  suppose  the  poor  fellow 
will  insist  on  staying  with  me,  and  I  shall  keep  him 

for  your  sake,  Dickon 

"  I  left  off  here  to  see  Mr.  Curtis,  who  had  called 
about  your  uncle's  business.  Somehow,  I  don't  know 
how,  he  has  learned  that  you  are  to  be  my  husband, 


AT   THE   ANTIPODES.  53 

and  as  you  could  not  be  consulted,  he  desired  me  to 
say  who  should  administer  on  the  estate.  I  told  him 
that  I  thought  he  would  be  the  most  suitable  person, 
but  he  said  that  some  one  else  ought  to  settle  Uncle's 
affairs,  because  he  had  been  his  partner,  and  had  many 
money  transactions  with  him.  I  appreciated  his 
delicacy,  and  suggested  Mr.  Henshaw.  I  didn't  know 
whom  else  to  name,  and  I  hope  you  will  approve  of 
my  selection.  Mr.  Curtis  is  to  see  Mr.  Henshaw 
to-morrow,  and  in  a  postscript  (a  woman  must  always 
have  a  P.  S.),  I  will  let  you  know  his  decision.  Mr. 
Curtis  has  looked  through  Uncle's  papers,  and  found 
no  will,  and  he  tells  me  that  by  law  you  are  sole  heir 
to  all  his  property."  The  postscript  stated  that  Mr. 
Henshaw  would  act  as  administrator. 

At  first  these  tidings  stunned  the  young  man.  He 
was  half-dazed  when  he  had  read  through  the  letters, 
and  it  was  some  hours  before  he  took  in  their  full 
meaning.  His  uncle  dead !  The  old  home  broken 
up.  The  old  homestead  itself  in  the  hands  of  stran 
gers,  and  he  the  width  of  the  world  away,  and,  for 
more  than  half  a  year  in  total  ignorance  of  all  that 
had  happened.  Why  had  he  left  his  home?  why 
allowed  a  false  pride  to  lure  him  so  far  away  from  all 
he  loved,  from  all  that  made  life  to  him  worth  living? 

Richard  was  at  a  loss  what  to>do — whether  to  ask 
release  from  his  China  engagement,  and.  go  home,  or 
to  stay  out  the  stipulated  five  years,  and  at  its  close 
return  with  the  fortune  he  hoped  to  meanwhile 
accumulate.  In  this  dilemma  he  decided  to  lay  the 
whole  subject  before  Mr.  Lamson,  the  senior  partner, 


54  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

who  on  his  arrival  had  taken  him  to  his  own  home, 
and  told  him  to  regard  himself  as  a  member  of  his 
family. 

It  was  a  charming  household — the  mother,  a  kind, 
matronly  woman,  of  middle  age,  the  daughter,  a 
strangely  beautiful  girl,  just  stepping  into  womanhood. 
As  the  family  sat  together  one  evening  after  dinner  in 
the  library  of  the  mansion,  a  spacious  room  looking 
out  over  the  broad  China  sea,  the  young  man  said  to 
his  new  employer,  "  Mr.  Lamson,  you  have  received 
me  most  kindly ;  and  may  I  ask  you  to  be  still  more 
kind  by  allowing  me  to  give  you  my  full  confidence  ?" 

Mr.  Lamson  looked  up  from  the  pile  of  American 
papers  which  had  come  by  the  newly-arrived  ship,  and 
answered  cordially,  "Most  certainly  I  will."  Then  to 
his  daughter  he  said,  "  Come,  my  dear,  give  your 
mother  and  me  a  kiss,  and  let  us  know  how  delightful 
it  is  to  be  without  your  society  for  a  little  time." 

The  young  lady  rose  to  obey,  when  the  young  man 
said  hastily,  "  By  no  means,  Mr.  Lamson.  I  have  no 
secrets  that  I  would  keep  from  any  member  of  your 
family." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Thorndike,"  said  the  young 
lady.  "  You  are  far  more  polite  than  father — owing, 
no  doubt,  to  your  being  so  lately  from  Boston." 

"  Well,  you  are  polite,  my  dear,"  rejoined  her  father, 
smiling,  "  but  now  be  good  enough  to  let  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike  speak." 

"  I  am  opening  to  you,  Sir,"  said  the  young  man, 
"  that  which  is  very  sacred  to  me  ;  but  you  cannot 
understand  what  I  would  say  unless  you  know  all. 


AT  THE  ANTIPODES.  55 

Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  read  these?"  And  he 
handed  to  him  the  letters  from  Charlotte  and  his 
uncle. 

"  Shall  my  wife  hear  them  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Lamson. 

"  Certainly,  Sir,"  he  answered.  "  I  would  very 
much  like  to  have  Mrs.  Lamson's  advice." 

Then  Mr.  Lamson  in  a  low,  deliberate  tone  read  the 
letters  in  their  consecutive  order,  pausing  every  now 
and  then  to  ask  some  explanation,  or  make  some  com 
ment.  When  he  had  finished,  he  said  :  "  I  perceive 
what  you  desire  to  know — whether  you  shall  return 
home,  or  remain  with  us  in  China." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  said  Richard,  "  I  wish  you  would 
advise  me  as  if  you  were  my  father." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Mr.  Lamson,  "and  Rachel  will 
you  speak  now,  or  shall  I  give  the  first  opinion  ?  " 

"  You  speak  first,  Israel,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson. 
"  My  mind  is  made  up  ;  but  no  doubt  you  think  as  I 
do." 

"  Well,  Richard, — you  see  I  mean  to  begin  at  once, 
and  regard  you  as  one  of  my  family.  First,  let  me 
say  that  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and 
this  is  what  I  have  everywhere  observed.  No  man 
succeeds  in  life  who  allows  himself  to  be  diverted 
from  his  course  by  every  occurring  obstacle.  A 
young  man  setting  out  in  his  career,  should  form  a 
definite  plan,  and  adhere  to  it  whatever  the  discourage 
ments.  All  great  successes  in  life  are  achieved  by 
fixed  resolve,  and  persistent  effort.  If  you  go  back  to 
Boston  now,  you  alter  your  plan,  and  throw  away  a 
full  year  of  your  life.  And  suppose  you  do  go  back, 


56  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

go  again  with  Henshaw,  are  admitted  at  twenty-one, 
and  marry  Miss  Wilder.  Henshaw's  firm  is  badly 
crippled,  if  they  have,  as  you  think,  lost  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand.  That  being  so,  their  profits 
divided  among  five — and  your  interest  would  be  a 
minor  one — would  not  enable  you  to  support  your 
wife  in  the  way  she  has  been  accustomed  to  living. 
The  result  would  be  you  would  be  obliged  to  use  her 
income,  and  to  avoid  doing  that  is  what  brought  you 
to  China.  You  couldn't  be  of  much  help  in  settling 
your  uncle's  estate.  It  probably  is  not  very  large,  or 
very  complicated,  and,  if  it  were,  it  couldn't  be  in  any 
better  hands  than  Henshaw's." 

"  On  the  other  hand,  suppose  you  stay  in  China. 
And  now  I  will  speak  in  entire  frankness,  and  tell  you 
that  our  New  York  partner  did  not  make  the  arrange 
ment  with  you  until  he  had  thoroughly  satisfied  himself 
that  you  are  precisely  the  young  man  that  we  want. 
Besides,  the  "  John  Adams  "  brought  me  a  private 
letter  from  Henshaw,  in  which  he  speaks  of  you  in  the 
strongest  terms  possible,  and  what  he  says  is  confirmed 
by  my  own  impressions.  Therefore,  your  future  here 
is  decided.  You  take  an  eighth  interest  with  us  when 
you  are  of  age,  and  that,  when  your  term  is  up,  will 
be  not  less  than  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  With 
that  money  you  can,  if  you  choose,  return  and  marry 
any  woman  in  America." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  that,  my  dear  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Lamson,  smiling.  "  I  scarcely  think  that  sum  would 
buy  me,  if  I  were  attractive,  and  pretty,  and  not,  say, 
more  than  thirty." 


AT  THE   ANTIPODES.  57 

"Nor  would  it  me,"  cried  Miss  Lamson,  "I  should 
ask  at  least  a  million." 

"Oh!  you  would"  said  her  father,  with  comic 
gravity.  "  I'll  wager  you'll  marry  some  seedy  fellow 
not  worth  a  single  Mexican;  and  as  for  your  mother 
— why,  my  dear,  if  my  memory  serves  me,  you  cost 
me  precisely  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  your 
passage  out.  That  was  the  exact  sum,  and  I  remem 
ber  it  well,  for  it  was  every  dollar  I  had  in  the 
world." 

"  I  know,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Lamson,  "  but  you  were 
so  lovable,  and  so  handsome,  you  know.  You 
wouldn't  think  it,  Richard,  but  he  was,  when  young, 
the  handsomest  man  in  the  two  continents.  That 
is  why  I  came  fifteen  thousand  miles  to  many  him." 

The  young  man  could  but  laugh  at  the  badinage  of 
these  very  agreeable  people,  though  in  truth  he  was 
in  no  mood  to  be  amused. 

"  Well,  Richard,  to  resume,"  said  Mr.  Lamson. 
"If  you  remain  here  five  years,  you  will  be  mas 
ter  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  can  then 
return  to  America  if  you  like.  But  you  will  not 
return.  You  will  step  into  my  shoes  ;  your  interest 
will  be  enlarged,  and  in  twenty  years  you  will  go  out 
with  a  million.  And  now,  I  will  tell  you  confiden 
tially,  that  I  shall  remain  here  only  another  five  years. 
I  shall  then  retire  from  the  house,  and  go  home  to  lay 
my  bones  in  my  native  soil.  You  will  succeed  me 
here,  if  you  are  so  disposed.  I  had  this  in  view 
when  we  made  the  arrangement  with  you.  But  you 
think  I  have  forgotten  Miss  Wilder.  Not  at  all.  My 


58  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

wife's  remark  suggests  how  to  arrange  about  her. 
Draw  a  thousand  dollars  advance  ;  send  it  to  her  by 
Captain  Craig  of  the  "  Cleopatra,"  who  clears  for  Bos 
ton  within  a  week.  He  brought  my  wife  out  twenty 
odd  years  ago,  and  he  will  bring  Miss  Wilder  as  safely 
as  she  could  come  if  you  yourself  were  with  her. 
She  will  be  here  by  the  time  a  letter  can  go  and 
return.  You  will  bring  her  to  our  house,  and  this 
will  be  your  home  until  I  leave,  when  you  will  enter 
into  full  possession  of  it,  for  this  establishment  belongs 
to  the  firm." 

This  unexpected  kindness  from  comparative  stran 
gers  brought  tears  into  the  young  man's  eyes,  and  he 
answered,  "  You  are  too  good,  Sir.  I  couldn't  think 
of  crowding  a  wife  into  your  family." 

"  It  would  not  be  crowding — she  would  be  society 
for  my  daughter.  My  wife  has  fallen  in  love  with 
you — she  told  me  so  only  last  night,  and  we  already 
admire  .Miss  Wilder.  Such  a  grand,  heroic  girl,  as 
she  proved  herself  at  the  time  of  your  uncle's  death, 
we  could  not  help  loving." 

"  Oh,  do  send  for  her,"  now  said  Miss  Lamson, 
"  You  say  she  is  only  my  age — I  will  be  a  sister  to 
her." 

The  young  man's  heart  was  too  full  for  words.  The 
dark  cloud  seemed  to  be  lifting  from  his  life,  and  the 
future  to  be  opening  upon  him  with  all  the  gorgeous 
hues  of  a  summer's  sunrising.  If  his  uncle  were  but 
alive  he  would  ask  no  more.  Surely,  he  thought, 
this  life  of  ours  is,  after  all,  worth  living. 

Mrs.    Lamson    now   spoke.     "  Yes,   Richard,"    she 


AT   THE  ANTIPODES.  59 

said,  "  it  is  just  as  my  husband  says,  and  he  is  always 
right.  Send  for  Miss  Wilder.  We  will  take  her  into 
our  hearts,  as  if  she  were  our  own  daughter.  And  she 
will  be  very  happy  here.  I  have  lived  in  China 
twenty-one  years,  and  my  life  has  been  uninterrupted 
happiness.  I  should  not  think  of  returning  if  my 
husband  did  not  wish  to  die  in  his  native  country.  I 
will  write  Miss  Wilder,  tell  her  what  my  life  here  has 
been,  and  urge  her  to  come.  And  she  will  come.  I 
left  a  luxurious  home  to  join  my  husband  here  when 
he  was  well-nigh  penniless,  and  I  have  never  regretted 
it." 

Oppressed  by  his  emotions  the  young  man  was 
silent,  and  Mr.  Lamson  said,  "  Do  as  we  suggest, 
Richard  ;  say  but  the  word  and  I  will,  direct  Captain 
Craig  to  fit  up  for  Miss  Wilder  the  best  state-room  in 
the  '  Cleopatra.'  She  sails  like  the  wind,  and  the  young 
lady  will  be  with  you  in  ten  months  from  to-day." 

"  I  will  do  as  you  suggest,  Sir,"  said  Richard,  "  and 
I  trust  the  future  will  show  that  I  appreciate  the 
goodness  of  yourself  and  your  family." 

The  "  Cleopatra  "  took  two  letters  from  young  Thorn- 
dike,  one  to  Miss  Wilder,  the  other  to  Mr.  Henshaw. 
In  that  to  Mr.  Henshaw,  after  thanking  him  for 
assuming  the  administration  of  his  uncle's  estate,  and 
making  some  suggestions  about  the  renting  of 
the  homestead  and  disposal  of  the  other  property,  he 
stated  that  he  had  written  Miss  Wilder  by  the  same 
ship,  inviting  her  to  take  a  return  passage  by  the 
"  Cleopatra,"  and  join  him  in  China.  She  would  no 
doubt  be  found  at  her  mother's  home  in  Dorchester, 


60  THE    LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

but  if  not  there,  her  residence  could  be  ascertained 
by  inquiring  of  Mr.  John  Cravan.  He  would  thank 
Mr.  Henshaw  if  he  would  call  upron  her  personally, 
and  tender  his  services  in  facilitating  her  departure, 
and  he  remarked  that  possibly,  and  indeed  very  prob 
ably,  her  coming  would  be  opposed  by  her  mother. 
In  view  of  this  probability  he  desired  Mr.  Henshaw 
to  see  that  she  had  perfect  freedom  to  follow  her  own 
inclination. 

To  his  affianced  he  wrote  a  letter  of  many  pages, 
enclosing  one  from  Mrs.  Lamson,  with  a  bill  of  ex 
change  on  the  New  York  branch  of  Lamson  &  Co. 
payable  to  the  order  of  Charlotte  Wilder. 

A  few  days  later  he  stood  upon  the  noble  quay  at 
Hong  Kong,  and  watched  the  tall,  tapering  masts  of 
the  "  Cleopatra  "  as  they  sank  slowly  below  the  blue 
water.  As  the  last  slender  spar  disappeared,  his 
spirits  rose  free  and  buoyant.  In  another  short  ten 
months  his  affianced  wife  would  stand  with  him  upon 
that  spot,  and  be  his  forever.  The  future  rose  before 
him  glad  and  radiant.  He  no  longer  walked  the 
earth  ;  he  trod  among  the  stars. 

This  buoyancy  of  spirit  he  carried  into  his  business. 
Applying  himself  to  it  with  determined  energy,  he 
soon  acquired  the  broken  dialect  of  the  trading 
Chinese,  made  himself  familiar  with  the  different 
grades  of  teas  and  silks,  and  the  immense  correspond 
ence  of  the  great  house.  Mr.  Lamson  observed  his 
earnest  application  with  evident  pleasure,  and — a  ge 
nial,  outspoken  man — he  did  not  hesitate  to  express 
his  gratification. 


AT  THE   ANTIPODES.  6 1 

Thus  several  months  glided  away,  and  young 
Thorndike  became  day  by  day  more  accustomed  to 
his  new  life,  more  at  home  in  the  agreeable  family  of 
Mr.  Lamson,  and  more  reconciled  to  the  thought  of 
a  long  residence  so  far  away  from  his  native  country. 
He  received  letters  from  his  affianced  by  every  incom 
ing  ship,  and  each  one  told  him  how  patiently,  and 
yet  hopefully,  she  was  was  waiting  for  the  time  that 
would  bring  him  back  to  her  forever. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HONG   KONG. 

THE  island  of  Hong  Kong  at  this  period  held  about 
one  hundred  thousand  people,  and  was  under  British 
rule,  though  not  three  thousand  of  its  population  were 
Europeans,,  and  of  these,  less  than  one  thousand  were 
English  and  Americans.  The  place  had  been  ceded 
to  Great  Britain  in  1842,  and  then  contained  only  a 
few  fishermen's  huts,  occupied  by  a  low  order  of 
Chinese;  but  on  this  naked  rock  had  since  arisen  a 
city  that  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  our  modern  time. 
Starting  from  the  northern  shore,  and  climbing  the 
mountain  side,  terrace  above  terrace,  and  along  streets 
hewn  out  of  solid  stone,  it  is  an  immense  amphitheatre 
of  palaces  and  warehouses,  the  like  of  which  is  to  be 
seen  nowhere  else  in  the  world.  And  this  vast  fabric 
of  Anglo-Saxon  enterprise  had  been  erected  by  a 
handful  of  merchants,  in  the  space  of  less  than  half  a 
generation. 

One  of  the  chief  of  these  merchant  princes  was  the 
American,  Israel  Lamson.  He  had  removed  from 
Shanghai  when  Hong  Kong  first  came  under  British 
rule,  and  his  broad  mind,  and  great  energy,  had 
impressed  themselves  upon  it  from  the  day  the  cor- 


HONG   KONG.  63 

ner-stone  was  laid  of  its  first  warehouse.  He  was 
still  a  leading  element  in  its  social  and  business  life  ; 
but  he  no  longer  gave  the  active  attention  to  public 
affairs  that  he  had  given  when  his  own  fortune  was  in 
process  of  building.  He  had  passed  the  stage  of  accu 
mulation,  and  arrived  at  that  of  distribution — not  now 
aiming  to  make  money,  but  to  expend  it,  and  in  ways 
to  benefit  his  fellow-creatures  of  whatever  race  or 
nationality. 

So  engrossed  had  young  Thorndike  been  in  master 
ing  the  details  of  his  position,  that  nearly  four  months 
after  his  arrival  at  Hong  Kong  he  had  seen  nothing 
more  of  its  wonderful  capital,  Victoria,  than  fell 
under  his  eye  on  his  business  rounds,  or  in  his  short 
walks  to  and  from  the  English  chapel  on  Sundays. 
But  one  morning  about  this  time,  as  he  sat  at  break 
fast  with  the  family,  Miss  Lamson  said  to  him,  "  Mr. 
Thorndike,  would  you  not  like  to  take  a  turn  to-day 
around  the  Island  ?  I  will  show  you  all  its  won 
ders." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Isabel,"  he  answered,  "  I  will 
be  glad  to  go  with  you  after  business  hours." 

"  No,  now,"  said  the  impetuous  young  lady.  "  The 
morning  is  the  time  to  see  life  in  Hong  Kong.  Father 
won't  mind.  He  will  do  your  work  for  to-day.  You 
confine  yourself  too  closely  to  business,  and  seem  to 
forget  that  there  is  a  young  woman  belonging  to  the 
establishment." 

"  Yes, .Richard,"  said  Mr.  Lamson,  "go,  and  make  a 
day  of  it.  Isabel  will  give  you  a  merry  time,  and  it 
will  do  you  good." 


64  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

Sing  Tow,  the  Chinese  coachman  of  the  family, 
being  directed  to  get  up  the  drag  in  half  an  hour  they 
set  out  on  the  exploration.  The  drag,  was  an  open, 
low-hung,  four-wheeled  vehicle,  with  two  seats,  and 
was  drawn  by  a  pair  of  Mongolian  ponies,  small  and 
clean-limbed,  but  tough,  active,  and  spirited,  and 
trained  to  go  at  the  very  top  of  their  speed.  The 
coachman  wore  a  pith  hat,  and  a  close-fitting  suit  of 
white  flannel,  cut  in  the  European  style,  and  but  for 
the  inevitable  pig-tail  coiled  upon  the  top  of  his  head, 
he  might  have  been  taken  for  a  slightly-tanned  Lon 
don  Jehu. 

It  was  a  delicious  morning  in  early  May.  The 
extreme  hot  season  had  not  arrived,  and  a  cool  breeze 
swept  in  from  the  sea,  fanning  their  cheeks,  and  mak 
ing  their  young  blood  to  leap  along  their  veins  in  a 
perfect  jubilee  of  enjoyment.  "Give  me  the  reins, 
Sing,"  said  Miss  Isabel,  taking  a  place  on  the  front 
seat  of  the  drag.  "  I  want  to  show  Mr.  Thorndike 
one  of  my  numerous  accomplishments." 

The  young  man  took  the  back  seat,  and  in  a 
moment  Isabel  gave  the  ponies  their  heads,  and  they 
were  off,  whirling  along  Mr.  Lamson's  private  avenue 
and  down  the  public  road  at  a  perfect  break-neck 
pace,  into  the  very  heart  of  Victoria.  Isabel  handled 
the  reins  as  if  she  had  been  born  to  the  vocation  ;  and 
she  was  a  glorious  creature.  Only  nineteen,  she  was 
in  the  full  bloom  of  early  womanhood.  Above  the 
medium  height,  with  a  full,  exquisitely-rounded  form, 
and  a  finely  poised  head,  she  was  the  very  perfection 
of  physical  beauty.  Her  long,  dark-brown  hair,  let 


HONG   KONG.  65 

loose  by  the  rapid  motion  in  the  freshening  wind, 
had  escaped  from  underneath  her  gipsy  hat,  and  now 
was  streaming  about  the  young  man's  face  in  a  tan 
gled  mass  of  wavy  luxuriance.  She  turned  with  a 
merry  laugh,  and  a  face  glowing  with  excitement,  to 
catch  the  runaway  ringlets,  and  then  Richard,  for  the 
first  time  realized  her  surpassing  loveliness.  Her  face 
was  one  for  a  sculptor ;  but  sculpture  could  not  give 
the  ever-changing  color  of  her  olive,  rose-tinted 
cheeks,  nor  the  varying  expression  of  her  mobile  lips, 
and  glorious  eyes,  dark  and  languishing  as  those  of 
the  fabled  beauties  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  But  she 
was  no  mere  flesh  and  blood  beauty.  She  had  a  soul. 
In  her  fine  face,  fluctuating  as  her  features  did  with 
every  tide  of  feeling,  it  shone  clear  and  pure — a  little 
wayward,  a  little  conscious  of  its  power,  and  yet,  gen 
tle,  true,  and  loving. 

During  this  digression  the  young  people  "have  been 
rushing  at  headlong  speed  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
town.  The  road  is  not  over-wide,  but  very  good — the 
best  in  China — and  they  bowled  rapidly  along  heed 
less  of  the  crowds  of  Parsees,  Sikhs,  Sepoys,  Malays, 
Chinamen,  Manillamen  and  mongrel  Spaniards  and 
Portuguese,  that  were  everywhere  in  the  way,  almost 
blocking  up  the  thoroughfare.  Everybody  in  China 
lives  out  of  doors,  but  at  this  early  hour  the  streets 
are  unusually  populous.  Soon  they  came  upon  a 
particularly  dense  throng,  among  whom  was  a  China 
man  trundling  a  wheelbarrow,  with  two  others  hold 
ing  on  at  the  sides,  and  a  Chinese  lady  in  a  sedan 
chair,  borne  by  a  couple  of  coolies.  It  seemed  cer- 
5 


66  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

tain  that  they  would  run  these  people  down,  and 
Richard  said  to  the  fair  coachman,  "  Pardon  me,  Miss 
Isabel.  Is  not  going  at  such  speed  dangerous  in  this 
crowded  street  ?  " 

"  Oh !  no,"  she  cried.  "  They  know  enough  to  get 
out  of  the  way.  Fast  driving  is  the  fashion  here. 
If  we  were  to  go  slower  they'd  take  us  for  Chinese." 

They  did  "  get  out  of  the  way,"  and  such  scream 
ing,  and  shouting,  and  ground-and-lofty  tumbling, 
never  were  seen  in  any  civilized  country  outside  of  a 
travelling  circus.  But  on  went  the  merry  party,  now 
grazing  a  butcher's  stall,  now  brushing  against  a 
huckster's  booth,  now  dodging  a  fisherman's  stand, 
now  upsetting  an  orangeman,  now  spilling  a  coolie 
with  a  water  tank  slung  to  the  two  ends  of  a  pole,  and 
every  now  and  then  plunging  through  a  motley 
mixture  of  all  nations,  who  with  wild  shouts  scattered 
hither  and  yonder;  and  then  turned  about  to  gaze 
with  open-eyed  wonder  at  the  novel  sight  of  a  delicate 
"  Melican  lady"  playing  Jehu  to  a  broad-breasted 
"  Melican  man,"  in  a  low-down  drag,  through  the 
crowded  streets  of  Victoria. 

But  on  they  went !  past  all  sorts  of  shops,  with  all 
sorts  of  wares  temptingly  displayed  in  the  windows  ; 
past  a  stately  English  church  around  which  were 
open  grounds,  and  some  new-made  graves ;  past  a 
street  theatre  where  native  actors  in  tattooed  bodies, 
and  rouge-bedaubed  faces,  were  wailing  out  monoto 
nous  discord ;  past  a  Buddhist  temple  in  a  small, 
gravelled  enclosure,  where  crowds  of  priests  were  mut 
tering  long  prayers,  with  bowed  faces,  and  foreheads 


HONG   KONG.  67 

every  now  and  then,  pummelling  the  ground  ;  past  a 
packing-house  where  half-clad  coolies,  with  naked  feet, 
were  stamping  tea  into  chests,  to  be  sipped  by  many  a 
fastidious  dame  in  far-away  Britain  and  America  ;  past 
a  Catholic  school,  where  sable-robed  Sisters  were 
fitting  Chinese  boys  to  be  Christian  missionaries  to 
the  rising  native  generation  ;  and  past  the  Hall  of 
Confucius,  where  indigent  youths  were  trained  to  be 
Mandarins ;  for  in  this  celestial  land  the  highest 
station  is  within  reach  of  the  lowest,  if  he  only- has 
knowledge — that  is,  understands  the  eight  diagrams 
of  Fohy,  and  the  male  and  female  principle  which  is 
enclosed  in  the  mundane  egg.  Verily,  great  is  knowl- 
edge'and  great  is  Confucius,  its  mundane  prophet ! 

Still  on  they  went!  past  a  magnificent  park  of 
many  acres,  wherein  were  trees,  flowers,  lakes,  and  a 
beautiful  fountain,  fed  by  a  mountain  spring  that 
sends  its  pure  stream  into  every  house  in  Victoria  ; 
past  a  Chinese  market  where  dressed  dogs,  rats,  cats 
and  kittens,  all  juicy  and  luscious,  were  alluringly  dis 
played  to  tempt  the  Chinese  palate  ;  past  the  splendid 
government  buildings,  where  gold-laced  Englishmen 
were  lounging  idly  around  the  courts  and  corridors ; 
past  the  barracks  where  a  single  regiment  of  Sepoy 
and  British  soldiers  was  under  drill,  to  keep  these 
hundred  thousand  mongrel  Orientals  in  civilized  sub 
jection  ;  past  a  funeral  procession,  with  a  long  line  of 
white-robed  mourners,  who,  with  a  band  of  music 
playing  a  lively  tune,  were  bearing  some  rich  John 
Chinaman  to  the  home  of  his  ancestors  ;  past  that 
ancestral  home,  where  a  dead  generation  rests  above 


68  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

ground  in  tall,  two-storied  coffins,  whereon  are  piled 
huge  mounds  of  earth  and  stone  to  keep  them  from 
a  premature  resurrection.  Passing  all  these  things, 
curious  to  untravelled  American  eyes,  they  emerged 
upon  a  wide  space,  and  thence  sped  down  a 
broad  avenue  to  the  seashore,  all  the  while  going  at 
the  same  breakneck  pace,  the  various  objects  flitting 
past  them  as  if  seen  from  the  windows  of  a  railway 
car. 

Here  they  paused  to  catch  a  puff  of  the  delicious 
sea  breeze,  and  Richard  said  to  the  young  lady, 
"  This  gait  will  bang  up  your  ponies,  Miss  Isabel. 
They  will  break  down  before  we  get  home." 

"  Oh !  no  they  won't,"  answered  the  glowing 
beauty.  "  They  are  built  on  springs — wind  them  upf 
and  they  will  run  all  day." 

And  so  it  seemed  as  they  set  out  again,  moving  as 
if  run  by  the  electricity,  which,  at  their  every  step, 
came  out  at  their  heels.  Now,  they  turned  into  a 
a  broad  avenue,  leading  upward  to  the  Peak,  the 
grass-grown  summit  that  crowns  the  Island,  and  over 
looks  the  town,  and  the  China  sea,  as  far  away  as  the 
eye  can  reach.  In  ascending  this  slope  Miss  Isabel 
was  obliged  to  slacken  speed,  for  even  her  Mongolian 
beauties  could  not  climb  an  angle  of  nearly  forty 
degrees  at  a  pace  much  above  a  walk. 

This  hill  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  on  the 
globe — a  Christian  Paradise  in  the  very  heart  of 
Heathendom.  Nothing  in  Italy  is  so  fine  as  its  green 
lawns,  studded  with  magnificent  oaks,  magnolias,  and 
conifers  ;  its  luxuriant  parterres,  blooming  with  grape, 


HONG  KONG.  69 

orange,  lemon,  and  citron  groves,  and  fragrant  with 
every  variety  of  semi-tropical  flower.  The  stately 
villas  of  purest  marble,  or  native  stone,  which  stud 
the  slopes  and  ravines  of  this  hill,  look  down  on  a 
scene  scarcely  equalled  in  magnificence  by  any  in  the 
world.  There  are  the  homes  of  the  single  thousand 
English  and  Americans  who  rule,  and  almost  entirely 
own,  Hong  Kong.  Seen  at  night,  lit  up  by  innumer 
able  jets  of  gas,  these  villas,  as  they  rise  one  above 
another,  the  grassy  Peak  crowning  the  whole,  seem  a 
glittering  star-gemmed  pyramid. 

They  paused  long  at  the  summit  to  view  the  mag 
nificent  scene — the  Chinese  dwellings  huddled  to 
gether  along  the  beach,  the  great  clipper  ships  moored 
at  the  docks,  unloading  cargo  from  the  other  ends  of 
the  world ;  the  innumerable  Chinese  junks,  anchored 
near  the  shore,  where  the  Manchu  mermaids  were  per 
forming  their  toilets  in  the  sun,  and  their  numberless 
little  ones  were  toddling  about  the  greasy  decks,  with 
bamboo  life-preservers  tied  underneath  their  arms  to 
keep  them  afloat  should  they  fall  overboard  among 
the  sharks  ;  and  the  broad  bay,  sparkling  in  the  sun, 
whereon  were  anchored  several  huge  men-of-war, 
gayly  dressed  out  in  bunting,  and  flying  the  ensigns 
of  France  and  England  ;  and,  far  away,  where  a  tall 
clipper  ship,  all  her  canvas  spread,  and  the  cross  of 
St.  George  waving  at  her  peak,  was  beating  up  to 
town  in  the  light,  uncertain  breeze. 

After  awhile  they  set  out  again  down  the  long, 
winding  road.  Here,  to  make  intelligible  what  fol 
lows,  I  must  explain  that  Hong  Hill  is  every  here  and 


/O  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

there  furrowed  by  deep  ravines,  through  which  run 
roads  that  interlace  those  from  the  summit  at  varying 
angles,  the  two  often  crossing  under  and  over  one 
another,  like  the  tracks  of  intersecting  railways.  Mid 
way  down  the  hill  is  one  of  these  intersections,  where 
the  road  the  young  people  were  on,  after  curving 
abruptly,  crosses  the  avenue  below  upon  a  bridge, 
spanning  a  ravine  all  of  fifty  feet  down  in  rocky  decliv 
ity.  At  a  point  not  far  above  this  bridge,  the  road 
from  the  summit  has  a  slope  of  fully  forty  degrees, 
but  below  the  bridge,  for  a  distance  of  some  six  hun 
dred  yards,  it  runs  along  a  level  plateau,  and  then 
again  slopes  more  gently  down  to  the  lower  level,  on 
which  stood  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Lamson. 

The  ponies  set  out  down  the  hill  on  their  accus 
tomed  flying  gait,  but  young  Thorndike  quickly  said, 
"  Do,  Miss  Isabel ;  hold  them  in ;  you  will  spill  us  out, 
and  break  our  necks."  The  young  lady  laughed, 
drew  a  taut  rein  upon  the  animals,  and  told  Sing  Tow 
to  put  down  the  brake.  The  Chinaman  obeyed  with 
alacrity,  showing  a  full  appreciation  of  the  danger;  but 
either  the  brake  did  not  hold,  or  the  spirited  ponies 
were  inclined  to  choose  their  own  pace.  Whichever 
it  was,  away  they  flew  with  unslackened  speed,  and  in 
a  few  moments  were  entirely  beyond  control,  and 
rapidly  nearing  the  steep  descent  above  the  bridge. 
They  might  stumble  in  going  down  the  slope,  and 
throw  the  young  people  out  headlong,  or  they  might 
swerve  from  the  track,  at  the  bend  in  the  road,  thus 
miss  the  bridge,  and  land  them  all  fifty  feet  below  at 
the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  This  was  the  Greater  dan- 


HONG   KONG.  71 

ger,  for  the  curve  was  very  abrupt,  and  not  twenty- 
five  feet  from  the  bridge. 

The  situation  was  critical,  and  there  was  no  time 
for  ceremony ;  so,  telling  Sing  Tow  to  change  places 
with  him,  the  young  man  stepped  quickly  over  the 
front  seat,  and  saying  to  Isabel,  "  You  had  better  let 
me  handle  them,"  took  the  reins  into  his  hands.  The 
young  lady  was  pale  and  anxious,  but  cool  and  self- 
collected,  and  she  watched  him  now  with  an  intense 
look,  which  showed  that  she  fully  realized  how  much 
might  depend  on  his  slightest  movement.  She  knew 
that  if  he  could  keep  the  horses  on  their  feet  while 
going  down,  and  send  them  straight  over  the  bridge, 
he  might  trust  to  main  strength  £o  check  their  speed 
on  the  level  plateau  beyond. 

Soon  the  ponies  struck  the  slope,  and  went  bound 
ing  down  the  steep  hillside.  He  held  a  taut  and  even 
rein,  but  made  no  effort  to  reduce  their  pace.  They 
seemed  before  at  the  top  of  their  speed,  but  now  they 
merely  skimmed  the  ground,  and  their  pace  seemed 
to  be  increasing.  Still,  the  young  man  made  no 
attempt  to  hold  them  in  :  he  only  kept  his  eye,  quick 
and  intent  as  the  panther's  when  about  to  spring,  on 
the  road,  taking  in,  with  the  driver's  instinctive  sight, 
the  ponies'  legs,  now  moving  with  almost  lightning- 
like  velocity.  Half  way  down  the  nigh  horse  stum 
bled  slightly ;  but  a  sudden,  yet  steady,  pull  at  the 
reins  brought  him  up  with  a  spring,  and  on  they  went 
again  whirling. 

Soon  they  were  at  the  curve  in  the  road,  just  above 
the  bridge,  and  not  fifteen  feet  away  yawned  the 


72  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

rocky  declivity,  and  certain  destruction.  It  was  the 
critical  moment,  and  at  this  moment,  in  this  most  dan 
gerous  spot,  the  fore  foot  of  the  off  pony  struck  a 
stone,  and  he  was  down,  nearly  to  his  knees,  in  an 
instant.  In  another  instant  they  would  be  rolling  over 
that  fifty  feet  of  precipice ;  but  leaping  like  lightning 
half-way  erect,  the  manly  young  fellow  gave  a  power 
ful  upward  pull  that  lifted  the  pony  to  his  feet,  and  in 
a  second  more  they  were  over  the  bridge  in  safety. 

Over  the  bridge,  but  still  speeding  like  the  wind 
along  the  smooth  roadway.  And  now  came  the  tug 
of  war,  when  Mongolian  mettle  met  Yankee  muscle, 
and  was  conquered.  Bracing  his  feet  against  the  dash 
board,  the  young  man  threw  his  shoulders  back,  and 
brought  a  steady,  but  powerful,  strain  upon  the  bits 
of  the  now  frightened  and  furious  animals.  They 
leap,  they  run,  they  chafe,  they  plunge,  they  rear ; 
but  it  is  all  of  no  avail.  Their  speed  slackens,  and 
before  they  have  gone  three  hundred  yards,  that  un 
yielding  restraint  has  brought  them  up  all  standing. 

"  Bravo  !  "  cried  the  young  woman,  looking  at  Rich 
ard,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  admiration.  "  You  are  a 
Hercules." 

He  was  immensely  relieved,  and  he  answered  gayly, 
"  Well,  I  weigh  a  hundred  and  seventy  pounds,  and 
stand  six  feet  in  my  stockings." 

"You  have  saved  our  lives,"  she  said,  bending  im 
pulsively  towards  him. 

"  Possibly  I  have,"  he  answered,  quietly,  "  but  my 
own  was  at  stake,  so,  I  deserve  no  thanks.  But,  par 
don  me,  Miss  Isabel,  I  beg  to  relinquish  the  ribbons." 


HONG  KONG.  73 

"  No,  sir ! "  she  said,  emphatically,  "  I'll  never 
drive  you  again — henceforth  you  shall  be  my  coach 
man." 

They  arrived  at  the  mansion  in  time  for  the  one 
o'clock  "  tiffin,"  and  found  Mr.  Lamson  and  his  wife 
in  the  library.  Isabel  had  no  sooner  opened  the  door 
than  she  ran  to  her  father,  threw  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  Father,  we  have  come  so 
near  being  killed  !  And  we  should  have  been,  had  it 
not  been  for  Mr.  Thorndike."  Then  she  related  their 
narrow  escape,  with  the  warmth  natural  to  a  young  and 
ardent  imagination.  Before  she  had  finished  the  nar 
ration,  Mrs.  Lamson's  arms  were  about  the  young 
man's  neck,  and  when  she  had  concluded,  Mr.  Lamson 
said,  "  Richard,  you  don't  know  how  much  you  have 
done  for  me  ;  but  I  shall  not  waste  words  in  thanking 
you.  You  have  shown  very  rare  qualities.  It  is  just 
such  cool  calculation,  and  steady  courage,  that  make 
the  great  merchant." 

It  was  in  ways  like  this  that  young  Thorndike  be 
came,  day  by  day,  more  attached  to  his  new  home, 
and  its  lovable  inmates. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MERCHANT   PRINCES. 

WHILE  the  family  were  at  dinner  on  the  following 
day,  Isabel  said  to  Mr.  Lamson,  "  Father,  I  have  for 
gotten  to  ask  you  what  new  clipper  that  was  which 
we  saw  coming  in,  when  we  were  at  the  Peak  yester 
day?" 

"  The  '  Georgiana  Alger,'  my  dear,"  answered  Mr. 
Lamson,  "brand  new,  and  just  from  Boston  by  the 
way  of  London,  with  the  owner  on  board." 

"  Then,  I  suppose  she  was  built  in  Boston,"  said 
young  Thorndike. 

"  Yes,  at  East  Boston,  by  Donald  McKay.  You  see, 
Richard,  the  English  are  wiser  than  we  are — they 
allow  foreign-built  ships  to  be  owned  and  registered 
in  Great  Britain." 

"  And  did  Mr.  Alger  bring  his  Man  Friday  along 
with  him?  "  asked  Isabel. 

"  I  presume  you  mean  Mr.  Shepherd,  my  dear," 
said  her  father.  "  He  is  with  him.  You  have  proba 
bly  perceived,  Richard,  that  Bella  is  a  young  lady  of 
strong  likes  and  dislikes,  and  somewhat  outspoken." 

"  I  have,  sir,"  answered  Richard,  "  and  if  Miss  Isabel 
will  allow  me  to  say  it — I  like  her  the  better  for  it." 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  75 

"  Thank  you,  Richard,"  answered  Isabel.  "  You 
see  I  intend  to  call  you,  as  father  does,  '  Richard,'  for 
you've  been  on  my  list  of  heroes  ever  since — yesterday." 

"And  you'll  give  me  a  certificate  as  coachman, 
whenever  I  apply  for  it  ?"  said  the  young  man,  laugh 
ing. 

"  Yes,  and  I'll  do  more — promise  never  to  employ 
any  other,  when  you  are  at  command." 

"  So,  Richard,  you've  got  into  business,"  said  her 
father.  "You'll  find  you  have  your  hands  full.  But, 
Bella,  I  had  forgotten  to  say  that  Mr.  Alger  desired 
me  to  tell  you,  and  your  mother,  that  he  will  do  him 
self  the  honor  to  call  upon  you  to-morrow  evening ; 
so,  young  lady,  please  to  be  on  your  good-behavior, 
for  he  is  rich."  This  was  said  in  a  tone  of  badinage, 
to  which  the  young  lady  responded  in  a  similar  vein. 

"  So  am  I,"  she  said,  "  that  is,  I've  a  rich  father. 
Therefore,  I'm  looking  about  for  some  poor  young 
man — poor,  but  honest.  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Alger  is 
either  one  or  the  other ;  and  moreover  he's  an  Eng 
lishman." 

"  When  a  young  lady  sits  as  both  judge  and  jury, 
there  is  no  appeal,"  said  Mr.  Lamson. 

Dinner  was  just  concluded  when  a  servant  entered 
the  room,  and  announced  that  the  "  black  Melican 
sisterlee  "  had  called,  and  desired  an  interview  with 
Mr.  Lamson. 

"  Show  them  into  the  office,  I'll  be  there  directly," 
said  Mr.  Lamson.  "  And,  Richard,  will  you  come 
into  the  library  when  they  have  gone?  I've  a  little 
matter  !  wish  to  talk  over  with  you." 


76  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

The  young  man  assented,  and  when  Mr.  Lamson 
had  left  the  room,  his  wife  remarked.  "  You  have 
never  met  the  Sisters,  Richard  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  never  had  the 
opportunity.  Are  they  not  when  here  always  clos 
eted  with  Mr.  Lamson?" 

"  Yes,  generally,  about  school  matters  :  but  some 
time,  when  you  are  at  home,  I'll  ask  them  into  the 
library.  You'd  like  to  know  Sister  Theresa.  She  is 
the  most  spiritually-minded,  and  at  the  same  time,  clear- 
minded,  person  I  ever  knew.  She  lives  in  heavenly 
thoughts,  and  yet,  has  wonderful  practical  wisdom. 
My  husband  thinks  her  a  very  remarkable  woman." 

"And  she  is  very  beautiful,  Richard,"  said  Isabel. 
"  You  never  saw  such  a  spiritual  face,  and  such  eyes — 
why,  looking  into  them  you  seem  to  see  right  into 
Paradise.  She  is  an  English  nobleman's  daughter, 
and  has  given  up  home,  and  every  luxury,  to  teach 
these  poor  Chinese.  Is  she  not  a  heroine  ?  " 

"  She  must  be  ;  I  should  like  to  know  her,"  answered 
the  young  man. 

"  She  was  to  have  married  a  young  gentleman  who 
died,"  said  Isabel,  "and  ever  since  she  has  devoted 
herself  to  doing  good  to  the  poor,  and  the  ignorant. 
When  I  see  what  she  does,  it  makes  me  ashamed  that 
I  am  sitting  here  doing  nothing." 

"But,  you  are  doing  something,  Isabel,"  rejoined 
Richard,  in  a  serious  tone.  "  You  are  a  comfort  to 
your  father  and  mother ;  and  is  not  our  first  duty  to 
those  of  our  own  household  ?" 

"  You  are  a   dear,  good  boy  to  say  that,  Richard," 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  77 

said  Mrs.  Lamson  ;  "but  I  hear  the  Sisters  going,  and 
Israel  will  expect  you  in  the  library.'' 

As  the  young  man  rose  to  go,  Isabel  rose  also,  and 
putting  her  arm  within  his  in  a  playful  way,  said,  "I'm 
going  too ;  its  some  French  that  Father  wants  trans 
lated,  and  Richard  has  promised  to  help  me  to  brush 
up  mine." 

When  they  entered  the  library  Mr.  Lamson  was 
there  and  Isabel  said  to  him,  "  You  don't  mind  my 
being  here,  do  you,  Father?  '' 

"  No,  my  daughter,"  he  answered.  "  Sit  down  both 
of  you.  Now,  Richard,  I  want  to  talk  a  little  business 
with  you.  I  presume  you  have  noticed  the  Catholic 
school  for  training  boys  for  missionary  work." 

"  I  have,  Sir,"  said  Richard.  "  Isabel  pointed  it 
out  to  me  yesterday." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lamson.  "  I  got  it  up,  and  Sister 
Theresa's  father  and  I  keep  it  going." 

"Indeed,  Sir,"  exclaimed  Richard,  in  surprise.  "I 
thought  you  were  a  Protestant." 

"  I  attend  the  English  church  ;  but  that  does  not 
blind  me  to  the  vast  amount  of  good  that  exists 
among  the  Catholics.  To  my  mind  Christianity  is  a 
life,  and  not  a  creed.  What  a  man  is,  and  does,  seems 
to  me  the  only  important  thing.  If  I  read  the  Book 
aright,  the  KING  will  say  to  us,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye 
have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  my  breth 
ren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me  !  So,  I  try,  to  the  extent 
of  my  means,  to  do,  and  in  doing  I  treat  all  alike,  be 
they  Protestant,  Catholic,  or  even  Buddhist.  One  half 
of  all  I  give  away  goes  to  the  poor  among  the  Chinese 


78  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

through  our  Compradore,  who,  by  the  way,  Richard, 
though  a  confirmed  heathen,  is  one  of  the  best  men  I 
ever  knew." 

"  It  has  struck  me  that  he  is  a  very  upright,  honorable 
man,"  said  young  Thorndike. 

"  He  is  more  than  that — he  is  a  genuinely  good 
man ;  and  yet  he  has  three  wives,  believes  that  he 
talks  with  his  ancestors,  and  won't  do  a  thing  against 
their  advice.  But  about  the  school.  Its  decided 
success  has  given  me  the  idea  of  another — one  which 
shall  minister  to  the  bodies,  as  this  does  to  the  souls, 
of  these  poor  people.  In  it  I  propose  to  give  the 
Chinese  youth  an  industrial  training — to  fit  them  for 
following  some  useful  trade,  after  our  manner  of  doing 
things.  I  intend  that  it  shall  be  large  enough  to  grad 
uate  three  hundred  boys  and  girls  every  year  ;  and  you 
can  readily  see  what  a  leaven  that  yearly  number  will 
be  among  their  countrymen.  Every  one  that  goes  out 
into  life  will  instruct,  perhaps,  twenty  others,  and  in 
twenty-five  years  they  will  probably  civilize  the  half  of 
this  entire  region.  If  such  schools  were  established  in 
all  the  larger  cities,  and  the  plan  systematically  carried 
out,  they  would  in  fifty  years  civilize  the  whole  of 
China.  The  Chinese  are  frugal,  industrious,  temper 
ate,  ingenious.,,  and  peaceably  disposed.  They  only 
need  to  be  taught  our  ways  to  become  a  great  people, 
for  Christianity  would  follow  in  the  wake  of  civiliza 
tion — and  without  that,  no  man  or  nation  can  arrive  at 
true  greatness." 

"  It  is  a  great  project,  Sir,"  said  the  young  man  ; 
"  but  it  astonishes  me  that  you,  with  such  a  vast  busi- 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  79 

ness  on  your  hands,  can  find  time  to  think  of  these 
things." 

"  Well,  I  can't,  and  that  is  why  I  am  opening  this 
subject  to  you.  You  have  relieved  me  greatly  in  the 
business  of  the  firm,  and  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  you 
might  like  to  be  interested  in  some  of  my  outside  pro 
jects." 

"  I  should  like  it  exceedingly,"  said  Richard.  "  You 
have  only  to  tell  me  what  you  would  have  me  do,  and 
I  will  do  it  to  the  utmost  of  my  ability." 

"  I  thought  you  would ;  and  I  know  you  will  find 
the  work  agreeable  ;  for  nothing  gives  us  so  much 
pleasure  as  doing  for  others — especially  for  the  poor 
and  ignorant." 

He  then  went  on  to  detail  the  work  to  be  done — the 
erection  of  a  building,  of  which  he  had  already  devised 
the  plan ;  the  making  of  the  necessary  disbursements; 
and  finally,  the  general  supervision  of  the  school, 
when  it  should  have  been  set  in  operation.  When  he 
had  concluded,  Isabel  said  to  him,  "  And  won't  you 
let  me  help  Richard,  Father?  I  am  tired  of  doing 
nothing — I  want  to  be  of  some  use  to  somebody." 

"  But  what  use  can  you  be  to  Richard — you  can't 
look  after  the  workmen,"  said  Mr.  Lamson,  smil 
ing. 

"  But,  I  can  help  Richard  select  the  scholars  when 
the  school  is  once  ready.  I  know  every  boy  and  girl 
in  Hong  Kong,  and  those  I  don't  know,  I  can  find  out 
about.  You'll  need  to  be  particular  who  you  admit  as 
pupils,"  said  Isabel,  earnestly. 

"  That  is  true,"  answered    her  father,  "  and,  Bella, 


8O  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

you're  a  very  sensible  girl.  You  can  do  as  you  like;  only 
Richard  must  not  be  interfered  with — he  must  have  sole 
control." 

"  Oh  !  we  won't  quarrel.  If  he  is  disposed  to,  I'll 
let  him  have  his  own  way — or  make  him  think  he 
has  it,  which  is  the  same  thing  with  the  men 
folks." 

Richard  laughed,  and  remarked  that  there  was  little 
danger  of  disagreement ;  and  then  he  asked  Mr.  Lam- 
son  what  provision  could  be  made  for  teachers  of  the 
industrial  branches. 

"  That  Catholic  priest  who  came  in  the  '  Georgiana 
Alger  '  was  sent  by  Theresa's  father  to  be  the  general 
superintendent,  and  the  three  men  who  came  with 
him  are  to  be  instructors  in  the  mechanical  depart 
ments.  This  is  not  a  sudden  thing  with  me.  I  have 
been  maturing  the  plan  for  a  couple  of  years. 
All  you  will  need  to  do,  will  be  to  take  the  general 
oversight — to  manage  the  whole.  But  I  think  Bella's 
suggestion  a  good  one.  Care  will  need  to  be  used  in 
selecting  pupils,  and  in  that  I  have  no  doubt  she  can 
help  you  more  than  even  I  could." 

The  young  lady's  arms  were  thrown  about  Mr. 
Lamson's  neck  when  she  said,  "  Oh,  Richard,  you 
don't  know  what  a  good  father  he  is — you'll  have  to 
know  him  as  long  as  I  have  to  find  him  out." 

Before  the  young  man  could  reply  a  servant  entered 
and  announced,  "  Mr.  Lee  Ling."  It  was  the  Com- 
pradore,  which  term,  I  may  as  well  here  explain, 
denotes  a  sort  of  broker  or  middle-man  between  the 
shipper  and  the  manufacturer — he  buys  of  the  coun- 


MERCHANT  PRINCES.  8 1 

try  people  in  small  quantities,  the  teas  and  silks  which 
the  great  merchant  ships  in  cargoes.  This  man  was 
about  forty  years  of  age,  of  medium  height,  with 
broad  shoulders,  and  a  square,  muscular  frame.  He 
had  a  high,  open  forehead,  intelligent  features,  and  a 
peculiarly  benevolent  expression  of  countenance.  He 
was  dressed  in  the  silken  robes  and  cap  of  a  civil  offi 
cial,  with,  on  the  apex  of  his  cap,  the  sapphire  ball 
that  indicates  one  of  the  higher  grades  of  mandarins — 
for,  though  Hong  Kong  was  under  British  rule,  it  was 
at  that  time  deemed  most  promotive  of  good  order 
among  the  Chinese  population,  to  select  their  civil 
magistrates  from  among  their  own  countrymen.  Mr. 
Lee  Ling  spoke  English  fluently,  had  travelled  exten 
sively,  spent  some  time  in  London,  and  was  a  man  of 
wealth,  and  of  high  consideration  among  his  own 
people.  He  transacted  business  with  most  of  the 
English  and  American  houses ;  but  was  on  terms  of 
especial  intimacy  with  Mr.  Lamson,  whom  he  had 
accompanied  from  Shanghai  to  Hong  Kong. 

Isabel's  arms  were  still  about  her  father's  neck  when 
the  Compradore  entered  the  room.  After  saluting 
Mr.  Lamson  and  Richard,  he  took  both  her  hands  in 
his,  and  looking  at  her  affectionately,  said,  "Ah,  my 
pretty  lady  !  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  have  such  a 
child  as  you  to  comfort  my  old  age." 

"How  much  will  you  give?"  asked  Isabel. 
"Come,  Mr.  John  Chinaman,  I'm  in  the  market  to  be 
your  wife  number  four." 

"  Well,  let  me  see,"  he   said,  as  if  deliberating  the 
question.     "  I'll  give  a  hundred  thousand  Mexicans." 
6 


82  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  It  isn't  enough,"  responded  Bella.  "  My  price  is 
a  million." 

"  Well,  I'll  give  the  million — that  is,  if  your  father 
will  lend  me  the  money." 

"  Oh,  he'll  do  that,"  said  the  merry  girl,  "  but  I 
must  be  satisfied  with  my  quarters.  You'll  let  me 
examine  them  in  advance?" 

"  Most  certainly.  You  know  you've  promised  for  a 
long  time  to  visit  my  ladies.  When  will  you  come  ?  " 

"To-morrow — just  after  tiffin — that  is,  if  you'll  let 
me  bring  my  new  coachman,  Mr.  Thorndike,  into  the 
house." 

"  Assuredly  I  will,  and  be  very  glad  to  welcome 
him,  and  so  will  be  my  ladies,"  said  the  Compradore. 

"What  do  you  say,  Richard?"  said  Isabel,  resum 
ing  her  seat,  and  her  usual  manner.  "  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  go  ?  Father  can  spare  you." 

The  young  man  readily  assented — access  to  a 
Chinese  gentleman's  house  being  a  privilege  seldom 
accorded  to  Europeans — and  it  was  then  arranged 
that  the  visit  should  take  place  at  two  o'clock  on  the 
following  afternoon. 

Then  the  conversation  turned  upon  the  projected 
school,  in  which,  as  it  soon  appeared,  the  Compradore 
had  been  interested  from  its  first  inception.  After  a 
time  he  remarked  to  Mr.  Lamson,  "  I  have  gone  into 
a  rough  estimate-  on  this  matter,  Sir,  and  I  conclude 
you  cannot  put  up,  and  furnish  the  building  for  less 
than  twenty-five  thousand,  and  it  will  take  another 
ten  thousand  to  carry  the  school  through  the  first 
year.  After  that  it  may  be  partly  self-supporting; 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  83 

but  during  this  first  year  I  see  that  I  can't  calculate 
upon  my  regular  fifty  thousand." 

"  I  shall  not  curtail  you  a  single  Mexican,"  said 
Mr.  Lamson. 

"What,  Sir!"  exclaimed  the  Compradore,  "  not 
when  you  have  a  half-dozen  other  things  of  this  kind 
on  hand !  Ah  !  Mr.  Thorndike,  this  gentleman  is  a 
prince — he'll  give  away  not  less  than  two  hundred 
thousand  this  year." 

"  Your  knowledge  on  that  subject  is  not  very  trust 
worthy,  Seignior  Ling,"  said  Mr.  Lamson.  "  No  one 
knows  how  much  I  expend  in  that  manner,  but  my 
self  ;  but  I  keep  as  exact  an  account  of  it,  as  I  do  of 
my  business.  I  have  always  done  so.  When  I  first 
started  out  in  the  world,  I  decided  to  set  aside  a  cer 
tain  portion  of  my  income  for  deserving  objects,  and  I 
have  rigidly  adhered  to  that  decision  ever  since,  and 
in  all  fortunes  ;  though  of  late  years— now  that  I  have 
more  money  than  I  have  any  possible  use  for — I  have 
increased  the  percentage,  and  this  year  I  may  run 
pretty  closely  up  to  my  income.  And  the  remarka 
ble  thing  about  it  is,  Richard,  that  the  more  I  give, 
the  more  I  make.  Every  dollar  that  I  have  ever- 
expended  in  charity,  has  been  returned  to  me  com 
pounded  and  re-compounded.  I  would  advise  every 
young  man  who  wants  to  succeed  in  life,  to  adopt  my 
system." 

"  I  would  like  to  know  what  it  is,  Sir,  "  said 
Richard,  "  if  it  is  a  proper  question." 

"  It  is  simply  to  lay  aside  at  the  end  of  the  year 
one-fifth  of  one's  earnings,  to  be  expended  during  the 


84  THE   LAST   OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

• 

following  year  in  worthy  charities;  and  to  see  per 
sonally  that  the  money  reaches  the  right  objects. 
Though  I  do  not  suppose  heaven  is  won  by  money,  or 
good  deeds,  I  nevertheless  believe  that  God  not  only 
loves,  but  blesses,  the  cheerful  giver.  And  that,  too, 
is  the  opinion  of  our  friend  here,  the  Compradore  ; 
though  he  thinks  he  will  never  reach  the  highest 
heaven  till  he  has  eaten  the  mundane  egg,  and  solved 
all  the  problems  of  Fohy.  Isn't  that  so,  Seignior 
Ling?" 

"  I  will  not  dispute  with  a  man  who  gives  away  two 
hundred  thousand  a  year,  and  has  a  pretty  daughter 
who  is  willing  to  sell  herself  to  me  for  a  million," 
answered  the  Compradore,  rising  to  take  his  leave. 
"  I  will  merely  say,  Mr.  Lamson,  that  we  Chinamen 
have  a  heaven  of  our  own,  to  which  we  admit  no 
Europeans ;  but  we  will  let  you  in,  and  give  you  a 
place  of  high  honor  in  our  chief  pagoda." 

"  That  is  a  good,  a  very  good  man,"  said  Mr.  Lam- 
son,  when  the  Chinese  gentleman  had  departed.  "  I 
have  known  him  for  twenty  years,  and  every  day  I 
have  seen  something  in  him  which  a  Christian  might 
emulate.  We  look  down  upon  these  heathen  ;  but 
the  Book  says,  '  In  every  nation  he  that  feareth  God, 
and  worketh  righteousness,  is  accepted  of  him.'  ' 

Tiffin  (lunch)  was  no  sooner  over  on  the  following 
day,  than  a  servant  announced  that  the  carriage  was 
in  waiting  for  "  Missy  Isabellee."  It  was  the  same 
low-down  drag,  with  the, same  Mongolian  ponies,  and 
Sing  Tow  on  the  forward  seat.  On  this  occasion  he 
officiated  as  coachman,  whirling  them  rapidly  through 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  85 

the  crowded  streets  of  Victoria,  and  then  out  into 
the  suburbs,  where,  after  passing  numerous  villas  of 
the  peculiar  Chinese  architecture,  they  drew  up  at  the 
end  of  a  short  half-mile,  at  one  of  more  spacious 
dimensions  than  the  others,  which  was  surrounded  by 
a  large  garden,  and  enclosed  in  a  wall  of  stone,  high 
enough  to  serve  as  a  fortification.  The  mansion, 
unlike  the  others,  was  also  of  stone,  very  massive  and 
substantial.  Evidently,  the  Compradore  intended  his 
house  to  be  his  castle  in  case  of  emergency. 

Entering  a  huge  iron  gateway,  the  young  lady  and 
gentleman  passed  along  a  nicely-gravelled  walk,  and 
were  soon  at  the  doorway  of  the  mansion.  Here,  on 
the  broad  veranda,  they  were  met  by  the  Compradore. 
He  was  in  his  high  mandarin  robes  of  dark  blue  satin, 
richly  embroidered  with  gold  and  silver,  on  his  head 
his  official  cap,  with  its  long  tassel  and  sapphire 
button.  He  received  them  with  genuine  cordiality, 
and,  holding  out  a  jewel-faced  watch  toward  Richard, 
said,  "  You  perceive  it  is  precisely  two  o'clock. 
Punctuality  is  the  soul  of  social  life,  as  well  as  of  bus 
iness." 

"  I  am  a  business  man's  daughter,  Mr.  Chinaman," 
said  Isabel,  with  a  gentle  toss  of  the  head,  "  and  this 
gentleman  is  my  coachman,  so,  of  course,  he  has  my 
ways." 

"Oh!  of  course,"  rejoined  the  Compradore,  laugh 
ing,  "  but  he  has  caught  your  ways  with  surprising 
quickness.  I  only  wish  I  were  twenty  years  younger. 
If  I  were,  you  wouldn't  -have  a  Yankee  for  a  coach 
man." 


86  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  What !  "  said  Isabel,  with  assumed  gravity.  "  Do 
you  suppose  I'd  have  a  John  Chinaman  like  you  about 
me  in  any  capacity  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  say,"  he  rejoined,  "that  it's  not 
exactly  the  thing  for  you  to  turn  up  your  nose  at  a 
Chinaman,  for  you're  only  a  Chinese  lady  yourself. 
I  know,  because  I  was  the  first  of  the  male  gender  to 
hold  you  in  his  arms  after  you  were  born.  You  loved 
me  very  much  when  you  were  a  little  thing,  Miss 
Isabel." 

"And  I  do  yet,"  she  answered  in  her  usual  tone; 
"  and  I'll  love  you  more  if  you'll  show  Mr.  Thorndike 
right  in  to  your  ladies.  He  says  he  must  be  back  at 
the  counting-room  by  four  o'clock." 

Without  further  delay  the  Compradore  led  them 
through  a  broad  hall,  and  into  the  reception  room  of 
the  mansion.  It  was  a  large  apartment,  actually  glit 
tering  with  splendor.  A  thick  Persian  carpet  cov 
ered  the  floor,  the  finest  of  lace  curtained  the  windows, 
and  many-hued  brocades  festooned  the  walls,  which 
were  colored  in  the  most  elaborate  fresco.  In  the  centre 
of  this  magnificent  apartment  were  grouped  the  three 
wives  of  the  Chinaman  to  receive  the  visitors.  The 
attire  of  these  ladies  was  perfectly  dazzling,  as  it  shone 
in  the  sunlight  ablaze  with  diamonds  and  emeralds. 
Wife  No.  i,  a  lady  a  little  above  the  medium  height, 
with  a  clear  olive  skin,  somewhat  obscured  by  powder 
and  vermilion,  was  arrayed  in  a  robe  of  crimson  satin, 
elaborately  embroidered,  with  an  over-mantle  of  blue, 
studded  with  jewels.  Her  head-dress  was  in  the  form 
of  a  crown,  several  inches  in  height,  and  of  gold  wire 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  8? 

in  which  rubies,  turquoise,  and  other  precious  miner 
als,  were  interwoven.  Pearl  pendants  of  vast  cost 
hung  below  her  chin  ;  rings  of  gold,  and  pearl,  and 
nephritic  stone,  were  in  her  ears,  and  on  her  fingers ; 
and  her  hair,  drawn  up  in  a  peculiar  knot  at  the 
back  of  her  head,  was  secured  by  a  lily,  altogether  of 
diamonds. 

This  lady  was  seated  in  a  high-backed  chair,  covered 
with  brocade,  whose  foliage  and  flamers  were  gold  and 
silver.  The  other  wives  were  standing.  Their  cos 
tumes  were  only  a  trifle  less  elaborate  than  the  gor 
geous  attire  of  their  senior  in  marital  rank.  Their 
underdress  was  of  blue  satin,  clinging  closely  to  their 
forms  and  beautifully  embroidered ;  the  overdress  of 
a  deep  orange,  covered  with  costly  laces.  Being  of 
the  Manchu  race,  their  complexions  were  a  shade 
browner  than  the  clear  skin  of  wife  No.  I,  who  was  a 
pure  Mongolian. 

As  the  principal  lady  rose  to  greet  her  unaccus 
tomed  visitors,  they  saw  that  her  feet  were  scarcely 
three  inches  in  length,  and  that,  as  a  consequence,  she 
would  be  unable  to  walk,  and  her  gait  would  be  a  very 
awkward  one.  She  motioned  them  to  seats,  and  then 
took  part  in  a  conversation  conducted  in  English. 
The  principal  subject  was  the  projected  school,  and 
her  remarks  indicated  a  good  deal  of  intelligence. 
During  the  entire  interview  the  inferior  wives  contin 
ued  standing,  and  merely  silent  listeners.  They  were, 
after  all,  only  of  an  upper  class  of  servants,  whose  duty 
was  to  the  mistress  of  the  household  ;  but  the  younger 
of  the  two — who  seemed  of  not  more  than  twenty 


88  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

years — was  of  a  beauty  that  was  dazzling  to  the  Amer 
ican  gentleman. 

The  interview  had  lasted  some  ten  minutes,  when 
Isabel — tiring,  perhaps,  of  its  conventional  stiffness — 
expressed  a  desire  to  see  the  Compradore's  garden, 
which,  she  said,  she  had  heard  spoken  of  as  a  marvel 
of  beauty.  A  formal  farewell  being  then  taken  of  the 
Chinese  ladies,  the  Compradore  conducted  his  visitors 
through  the  grounds  attached  to  the  mansion.  They 
were  a  bewildering  labyrinth  of  summer  houses,  artifi 
cial  lakes,  grotesque  bridges,  bubbling  fountains,  deep 
grottos,  and  arbors  of  grape,  groves  of  lemon,  orange, 
and  citron,  and  long  avenues  of  oak  ;  and,  more  won 
derful  to  the  visitors  than  all  else,  gateways,  temples, 
castles,  pagodas,  as  well  as  lions,  dragons,  and  all  man 
ner  of  animals,  formed  of  live  and  growing  trees, 
which  the  admirable  art  of  these  people  enables  them 
to  fashion  into  the  semblance  of  any  conceivable 
object.  Pausing  before  a  striking  group,  Richard 
said  to  the  Compradore,  "You  Chinese  are  a  wonder 
ful  people :  this  is  in  advance  of  anything  to  be  seen  in 
Europe  or  America." 

'"It  probably  is  different,"  answered  the  Chinaman, 
"  unless  it  has  been  imported  there  from  China.  I  saw 
nothing  like  it  in  Europe,  except  in  the  garden  of  Mr. 
Alger,  a  few  miles  out  of  London.  He  has  not  so 
great  a  variety  as  I  have ,  but  one  thing  he  has  that  is 
more  curious,  the  full  name  of  his  wife — Georgiana 
Alger — formed  from  a  running  evergreen." 

"  I  didn't  know  that  he  had  a  wife,"  said  Isabel,  in 
a  tone  that  was  intended  to  conceal  her  surprise. 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  89 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  the  Compradore ;  "  he  has  a 
lovely  wife,  and  a  beautiful  little  daughter  of  about 
nine  years.  I  was  their  guest  for  a  fortnight,  and  we 
became  very  good  friends.  Mrs.  Alger  sent  me  their 
photographs  by  the  ship  that  brought  Mr.  Alger." 

"  Indeed.  I  would  dearly  like  to  see  them,"  said 
Isabel.  "  Won't  you  show  them  to  us  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  will,"  replied  the  Chinaman.  "  Amuse 
yourselves  here  for  a  few  moments,  and  I  will  bring  them 
to  you." 

When  the  Compradore  had  gone  to  the  mansion, 
Isabel  motioned  Richard  to  a  rustic  seat  near  by,  and 
as  he  took  it,  said  to  him,  "  The  ways  of  men  are  not 
past  finding  out.  Please,  Richard,  give  particular  heed 
to  what  the  Compradore  may  say  ;  and  I  will 
tell  you  something  singular  when  we  are  alone  to 
gether." 

In  a  few  moments  the  Compradore  returned  with 
the  pictures.  They  were  photographs,  but  colored  with 
such  exquisite  art  as  to  seem  paintings  upon  ivory. 
The  face  of  the  lady  at  once  riveted  Isabel's  atten 
tion.  The  features  were  regular  and  refined,  the  nose 
straight  and  well  formed,  the  nostrils  thin  and  flexible, 
and  the  lips  sensitive,  displaying  a  strongly  impres 
sionable  nature.  The  forehead  was  broad,  and  shaded 
by  heavy  masses  of  dark  brown  hair,  brushed  plainly 
back  so  as  to  disclose  small,  shell-like  ears.  But  the 
eyes  were  what  fixed  Isabel's  gaze.  They  were  large  i 
and  dark,  and  through  them  looked  a  soul  that  seemed 
to  have  been  crushed  by  some  irretrievable  calamity ; 
and  yet,  underneath  their  despair  was  a  faint  gleam  of 


90  THE    LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

hope,  like  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  Magdalen  when  she 
turns  her  gaze  upward  to  Heaven.  This  indescribable 
look  had  overspread  the  whole  face,  so  that  its  prevail 
ing  expression  was  one  of  deep  sorrow,  blended  with 
an  uplifting  hope — uplifting  because  resting  on  the 
HIGH  INVISIBLE.  The  face  of  the  child  was  like  that 
of  the  mother.  It  had  the  same  delicate  and  regular 
features,  wavy,  abundant  hair,  and  sensitive  mouth 
and  nostrils;  but  over  it  all  was  a  joyous,  innocent,  and 
yet  proud  expression  that  gave  promise  of  much  char 
acter.  Such  a  face  would  mature  into  remarkable 
beauty. 

After  studying  the  lady's  face  attentively,  Isabel 
handed  the  picture  to  Richard,  saying,  "  Look  at  it 
closely,  and  then  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

In  a  few  moments  he  said,  "  That  lady  has  known 
some  great  sorrow — she  has  a  history." 

"  And  a  sad  one,  Richard,"  responded  Isabel. 
"Her  face  says  plainer  than  any  words,  'A  broken 
and  a  contrite  heart,  O  God,  thou  wilt  not  despise.' 
She  grieves  for  something  that  she  thinks  was  sin  ; 
and  yet,  she  trusts  she  has  received  forgiveness.  And 
underneath  it  all,  is  a  soul  as  pure  and  clear  as  the 
sunlight."  Then  turning  to  the  Compradore,  she 
asked,  "  Do  you  know  anything  of  this  lady's  history? 
Did  her  face  always  wear  this  expression?  " 

"  It  always  wore  that  expression — there  was  a  set 
tled  sadness  about  her  always — but  I  know  nothing  of 
her  history.  I  only  know  that  she  was  about  the 
gentlest,  kindest,  most  lovable  person,  I  ever  knew  ; 
and  on  several  occasions  she  talked  with  me  on  relig- 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  91 

ious  subjects  in  a  way  to  almost  make  me  a  Chris 
tian." 

"  She  would  be  a  worker  of  miracles  had  she  done 
that,"  said  Isabel.  "  But  come,  Richard,  we  must 
go  if  you  would  be  at  the  counting-house  by  four 
o'clock." 

As  they  rode  along  on  their  way  home,  Isabel  said 
in  alow  tone,  to  Richard,  "Do  you  know,  Rich 
ard,  that  the  photograph  of  that  lady  helps  me  to 
solve  a  mystery  that,  to  my  mind,  has  always  hung 
about  Mr.  Alger?  He  has  constantly  a  furtive  look, 
as  if  always  on  his  guard  against  something,  and 
an  impenetrability  that  allows  one  to  see  only  a  little 
way  into  his  real  nature.  He  is  not  like  you,  open 
and  clear  as  the  light  ;  but  dark  and  secret,  and  let 
any  one  attempt  to  look  into  him,  he  will  come  very 
soon  against  a  thick  wall,  beyond  which  he  cannot  go. 
That  lady  has  gone  beyond  that  wall,  into  the  Blue 
Beard  chamber,  and  the  result  to  her  has  been  a  life 
time  affliction.  Ever  since  my  early  girlhood  he  has 
been  very  kind  and  attentive  to  me  ;  but  I  have 
always  felt  for  him  an  unconquerable  aversion.  The 
feeling  has  been  .instinctive.  I  have  tried  to  reason 
myself  out  of  it  ;  but  it  would  not  be  reasoned  with. 
I  have  not  known  the  cause,  but  now  I  surmise  it  to 
be  that  something  which  his  wife  has  discovered  to 
her  constant  sorrow.  I  would  not  be  unjust  to  any 
one,  but  I  am  sure  that  he  is  a  very  bad  man." 

"  I  have  not  even  met  him,"  said  Richard,  "and  so 
am  not  able  to  form  an  opinion,  good  or  bad.  I  only 
know  that  he  is  well  spoken  of.  But,  Isabel,  is  it  not 


92  THE   LAST   OF   THE  THORNDIKES. 

unsafe  to  let  our  feelings  control  our  judgments  of 
other  people  ?" 

"  I  am  not  now  governed  by  my  feelings,"  replied 
Isabel.  "  He  has  for  ten  years  had  a  wife  and  child  ; 
and  yet,  Richard,  he  has  had  the  perfidy  to  seek  me 
in  marriage.  When  he  went  away  about  two  years 
ago,  he  asked  my  father  to  permit  him  to  solicit  me 
to  be  his  wife  when  he  should  return  to  China :  and  he 
was  good  enough  to  say  that  he  would  always  allow 
me  to  remain  with  my  parents — that  is,  he  hoped  to 
have  one  wife  in  Europe,  and  another  in  China.  I 
have  told  you  this,  Richard,  that  you  may  not  think 
me  unjust ;  but  let  it  be  between  us  two  for  the  pres 
ent." 

"  Unjust,  Isabel  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man. 
"  He  is  a  consummate  villain  ;  not  fit  to  associate  with 
respectable  men." 

"  I  knew  you  would  think  so,"  she  said,  "  but  what 
shall  I  do,  Richard  ?  If  I  tell  Father,  he  will  forbid 
him  the  house,  and  have  no  further  relations  with 
him  ;  but  if  I  let  him  come  to  see  me,  I  shall  have  a 
chance  to  implore  him  to  remove  the  sorrow  from  the 
heart  of  that  poor  lady.  Advise  me  what  to  do." 

"  By  all  means  tell  your  father,  at  once,  Isabel," 
said  the  young  man.  "  Never  keep  anything  from 
him.  He  will  probably  forbid  Mr.  Alger  the  house  ; 
but  I  think  he  will  be  sure  to  remind  him  of  his  duties 
to  his  wife.  But,  be  frank  with  your  father,  whatever 
the  consequences." 

Accordingly,  Isabel  recounted  the  disclosure  of  the 
Compradore  to  Mr.  Lamson,  as  soon  as  she  returned  to 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  93 

the  mansion,  saying  in  conclusion,  "You  know, 
Father,  I  would  never  have  married  him,  under  any 
circumstances  ;  but  I  do  want  you  to  say  something 
to  him  that  will  help  his  poor,  unhappy  wife." 

The  result  of  this  disclosure  was  that  when  Mr. 
Alger  called  in  the  evening,  he  was  shown  directly 
into  Mr.  Lamson's  office.  They  were  closeted 
together  for  half  an  hour,  and  Mr.  Alger  went 
away  without  again  asking  for  the  ladies  of  the  house 
hold.  Soon  afterwards  Mr.  Lamson  joined  the 
family  in  the  library,  and  detailed  to  them  the  inter 
view.  Mr.  Alger  had  admitted  that  the  London  lady 
passed  in  society  as  his  wife,  and  that  her  child  was 
his  child  ;  but  he  assured  Mr.  Lamson  that  she  was 
not  his  wife,  they  having  never  been  legally  mar 
ried.  The  connection,  he  said,  was  one  of  the  errors 
of  his  youth,  and  he  had  resolved  to  sever  it  the 
moment  he  decided — two  years  and  more  before — to 
make  proposals  of  marriage  to  Miss  Isabel.  This  had 
been  his  principal  object  in  going  at  that  time  to 
Europe.  He  seemed  to  look  upon  the  relation  as  no 
offence  against  gentlemanly  morals,  and  was  surprised 
when  Mr.  Lamson  took  an  opposite  view  of  the 
matter.  These  statements  that  gentleman  met  with 
the  pertinent  remark,  "Yet,  on  arriving  in  London 
you  resumed  marital  relations  with  that  lady,  and  you 
continued  them  down  to  your  departure  for  this  coun 
try.  Moreover,  you  came  here  in  a  new  ship  named 
in  her  honor,  thus  advertising  her  as  your  wife  to  the 
whole  Chinese  empire.  How  do  you  explain  these 
things  ?" 


94  THE    LAST    OF   THE    THORNDIKES. 

Mr.  Alger  did  not  attempt  to  explain  them.  He 
merely  denied  all  but  the  patent  fact  as  to  the  ship, 
and  demanded  to  know  Mr.  Lamson's  authority. 
This  Mr.  Lamson  declined  to  give,  adding,  "  It  is 
useless  to  say  any  more  on  this  subject ;  but  Mr. 
Alger,  I  am  an  older  man  than  you  are,  and  let  me 
advise  you,  for  your  future  peace  of  mind,  to  return 
at  once  to  London,  and  repair  the  wrong  you  have 
done  that  lady  by  making  her  your  legal  wife.  Until 
I  know  that  you  have  done  that,  I  shall  decline  to 
receive  you  as  a  visitor  in  my  house,  and  to  hold 
any  relations  with  you  whatever." 

When  he  had  concluded,  Mr.  Lamson  said  to 
young  Thorndike,  "  It  is  fortunate,  Richard,  that  we 
have  learned  of  this  in  time  to  annul  that  joint  trans 
action  to  London  with  Alger,  Timpson  &  Co. 
Please  see  that  none  of  the  teas  are  shipped  by  the 
'  Georgiana  Alger.' ' 

o  o 

"None  shall  be,  sir,"  said  Richard;  "but  I  had 
intended  to  send  two  hundred  chests  on  board  to-mor 
row." 

"  And,  Father,  you  might  not  have  known  of  this 
in  time,  but  for  Richard,"  said  Isabel,  earnestly. 
"  He  insisted  upon  my  telling  you  at  once.  I  thought 
of  delaying,  that  I  might  implore  Mr.  Alger  to  deal 
kindly  by  that  poor  lady.  Whether  she  is  his  wife  or 
not,  I  know  she  is  as  pure  as  an  angel.  He  has  in 
some  way  deceived  her,  and  thus  made  her  his  victim." 

Mr.  Lamson  looked  approvingly  at  Richard,  but 
made  no  remark ;  and  the  conversation  soon  turned 
upon  other  subjects. 


MERCHANT   PRINCES.  95 

The  princely  merchant  did  not  return  at  once  to 
Europe  ;  but,  following  the  example  of  Mr.  Lamson, 
we  may  here  decline  any  further  relations  with  him, 
for,  as  a  man  in  the  body,  he  has  no  further  connec 
tion  with  this  history.  However,  the  deeds  that  men 
do  live  after  them,  and  hence,  I  shall,  farther  on  this 
volume,  have  occasion  to  note  some  of  the  results  of 
his  transgressions.  We  may  not  lift  the  veil  between 
this  life  and  that  other  one  ;  but  if,  as  we  know,  effect 
everywhere  follows  cause,  we  must  conclude  that  the 
reflections  of  that  man  when  he  came  to  himself,  and 
saw  the  consequences  of  his  crime,  were  not  of  a  char 
acter  to  be  very  much  envied. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

NEWS   FROM    AMERICA. 

YOUNG  THORNDIKE  had  at  this  time  been  in  China 
something  more  than  half-a-year,  and  by  every  incom 
ing  vessel,  he  had  received  letters  from  his'  affianced  ; 
but  now  a  full  month  went  away  and  brought  no  tid 
ings  from  her  whatever,  though  in  the  meanwhile  two 
ships  had  arrived  from  New  York.  Still,  as  she  would 
not  naturally  forward  letters  by  that  roundabout 
route,  their  non-reception  caused  him  no  anxiety. 
But,  at  the  close  of  another  month  one  of  the  firm's 
own  ships  arrived  direct  from  Boston,  and  in  her  mail- 
bag  was  nothing  for  him  whatever.  This  gave  him 
much  concern.  Something  must  have  happened. 
What  could  it  be  ? 

Mr.  Lamson  observed  the  young  man's  anxiety,  and 
in  the  evening,  when  the  family  had  gathered  together 
as  usual  in  the  library,  he  looked  up  from  the  pile  of 
Boston  papers  he  was  examining,  and  said  to  him, 
"  Richard,  you  had  no  letters  by  the  '  Persia  ?  '  ' 

"  None  whatever,  sir,  I  fear  something  has  hap 
pened." 

"No  doubt  there  is  some  deviltry  afoot,"  said 
Mr.  Lamson.  "  This  is  the  way  I  reason  about  it. 


NEWS   FROM   AMERICA.  97 

First,  the  young  woman  is  true  to  you.  If  she  stood 
so  faithfully  by  your  uncle,  she  will  stand  by  you. 
Second,  she  is  not  sick.  If  she  were,  she  would  have 
some  of  her  friends  write  to  you  ;  and  third,  she  is  not 
dead.  I  have  looked  carefully  through  these  file?  of 
the  Transcript  and  Daily  Advertiser,  and  there  is  no 
mention  of  her,  either  among  the  deaths  or  accidents. 
My  conclusion  is  that  her  friends  have  intercepted  her 
letters,  and  probably  yours.  What  did  you  tell  me 
about  her  mother  ?  " 

"  That  she  is  a  woman  of  very  decided  character, 
and  very  much  opposed  to  our  marriage.  But  she 
regards  her  word,  and  she  promised,  that,  so  long  as  I 
was  away,  she  would  not  mention  my  name  to  her 
daughter,  nor  force  upon  her  any  other  young  man's 
attentions." 

"  But  she  didn't  say  that  she  would  not  intercept 
your  letters,  and  so  attempt  to  break  up  the  connec 
tion  altogether.  She  has  done  that  ;  but  the  game 
won't  work.  Henshaw  will  balk  it.  Your  letter  to 
him  will  explain  all  to  the  young  lady,  and  she  will  be 
only  the  more  eager  to  come  to  you.  So,  keep  up 
good  heart.  She  will  be  here  by  the  '  Cleopatra.' ' 

These  encouraging  words  did  much  to  sustain  the 
spirits  of  the  young  man,  still  he  could  not  shake  off  a 
vague  apprehension  of  evil.  It  hung  about  him,  an 
impalpable  thing,  the  foreshadowing  of  some  impend 
ing  calamity. 

Weeks  again  went  by,  and  ship  after  ship  came  in, 
but  still  they  brought  Richard  no  word  from  his  af 
fianced.  At  length  another  of  Lamson  &  Co.'s  vessels 


98  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

arrived  with  no  letters  for  him,  but  a  full  file  of  Bos 
ton  newspapers.  Richard  had  no  time  to  look  at 
them  during  the  day,  but  Mr.  Lamson  had,  and  when, 
a  little  late,  the  young  man  came  in  to  dinner,  the 
good  gentleman  said  to  him  in  a  jubilant  tone,  "  Dick, 
my  boy,  I  have  solved  the  mystery." 

"  Have  you,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Richard,  not  pausing 
to  sit  down. 

"Yes.  Hear  this,"  and  taking  up  the  Boston  Adver 
tiser,  which  lay  beside  him  on  the  table,  he  read  as 
follows  :  "  The  Boston  ship  '  Penguin  '  which  arrived 
at  New  York  yesterday,  156  days  from  Hong  Kong, 
reports  having  encountered  a  very  severe  gale  off  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope,  in  which  the  ship  '  John 
Adams/  also  of  this  port,  foundered  with  all  onboard. 
The  ship  '  Hope '  of  New  York,  was  also  in  company 
with  the  '  Penguin/  and  caught  in  the  same  storm, 
but  rode  it  out,  much  damaged,  but  in  safety.  We 
regret  to  add  that  among  the  lost  on  the  'John 
Adams/  was  Mr.  Richard  Thorndike,  nephew  of  the 
late  Robert  Thorndike,  Esq.,  and  grandson  of  the 
Hon.  Timothy  Thorndike,  formerly  of  Dorchester. 
He  was  a  young  man  of  great  promise,  going  out  to 
China  to  engage  in  commercial  pursuits,  and  his  un 
timely  death  will  be  sincerely  deplored  by  his  numer 
ous  friends  and  acquaintance." 

"  And  all  this  time  Charlotte  has  thought  me  dead  !  " 
exclaimed  Richard.  "The  'Penguin'  mistook  the 
'  Hope/  which  did  go  down,  for  the  '  John  Adams.'  ' 

"That  is  it;  and  that  explains  the  whole,"  said  Mr. 
Lamson.  "  Her  mother  intercepted  Charlotte's  let- 


NEWS   FROM   AMERICA.  99 

ters  to  you,  before  the  news  arrived  of  your  death  ; 
and  then,  of  course,  Charlotte  stopped  writing.  Your 
first  letters  from  here  showed  the  mother  that  you 
were  alive,  but  she  kept  the  knowledge  from  her 
daughter." 

"Could  she  have  had  the  heart  to  do  that?"  said 
Richard,  taking  his  seat  at  the  table — "to  let  Char 
lotte  think  I  was  lost,  when  she  had  in  her  hand  proof 
that  I  was  living  !  " 

"Heart!"  echoed  Mr.  Lamson.  "Some  women 
have  hearts  harder  than  the  nether  millstone.  I  am 
not  sure  but  it  would  have  been  well  for  you,  if  she 
had  been  on  board  the  Hope." 

"I  say  so,  too,  Father!  "  exclaimed  Isabel,  "and  if 
I  were  there,  I'd  make  tiffin  of  her  in  a  twinkling." 

"  No,  my  dear,  not  tiffin,"  said  Mr.  Lamson,  laugh 
ing.  "She  would  do  better  for  breakfast — chopped 
fine,  and  served  as  minced-meat,  with  buttered  toast 
and  onions.  But,  Richard,  all  this  was  righted  long 
ago.  It  is  a  pity  the  poor  girl  has  been  made  to  suf 
fer  ;  but  Henshaw  has  explained  it  before  now.  She 
will  be  all  the  more  sure  to  come  by  the  'Cleopatra.' " 

"  How  soon  can  we  look  for  the  ship,  Sir?  " 

"  Within  a  couple  of  months — three  at  the  latest. 
So,  keep  up  good  heart.  This  short  anxiety  will  make 
both  of  you  only  the  more  glad  to  meet." 

"  Yes,  Richard,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson,  "  I  am  sure  it 
will  all  come  right." 

"  And  you  know  the  course  of  true  love  never  did 
run  smooth,"  said  Isabel,  archly.  "  But,  I  am  sure  I 


100  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

wouldn't  have  let  my  true  love  go  15,000  miles  from 
me." 

"  Not  if  you  had  one,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Lamson. 

"  I  sha'n't  '  pine  away  and  die  '  for  the  want  of  one, 
Father,"  she  answered.  "  I  might,  you  know,  catch 
one  like  Mr.  Alger ;  so,  I  shall  join  the  Sisters,  have 
Richard  for  a  brother,  and  spend  his  money  for  him — 
that  is,  so  much  of  it  as  he  bestows  on  the  poor  and 
needy." 

The  knowledge  of  the  unfortunate  mistake  respect 
ing  the  "John  Adams,"  revived  the  spirits  of  the 
young  man,  and  again  he  went  about  his  work  with 
his  usual  buoyant  energy.  Heretofore  he  had  devoted 
himself  closely  to  business,  declining  all  invitations  to 
go  into  the  excellent  English  and  American  society  of 
Hong  Kong ;  but  now,  as  a  means  of  diverting  his 
mind  from  the  gloomy  apprehensions  that  frequently 
assailed  him,  he  accompanied  Isabel  out  often  of  even 
ings,  and  upon  rides  during  the  day,  in  which  he  saw 
something  of  the  hundred  thousand  and  more  people 
of  all  nations,  who  are  hemmed  in  upon  that  small 
rock  in  the  China  sea. 

Thus  the  winter  wore  away,  and  Spring  came,  bring 
ing  with  it  that  delicious  blending  of  summer  and 
Indian  summer,  which  is  peculiar  to  the  south  of 
China.  On  a  Sunday  of  this  season  the  young  man 
was  seated  with  the  family  on  the  veranda  of  the 
mansion,  which  looked  down  upon  the  city  of  Victoria, 
and  far  out  over  the  China  sea.  A  score  of  great  ves 
sels  were  moored  at  the  docks,  or  anchored  in  the  road 
stead,  and  several  more — tall  mountains  of  snow — were 


NEWS   FROM   AMERICA.  IOI 

beating  in  the  light  breeze,  slowly  up  the  bay. 
Scarcely  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring ;  but  in  from  the 
garden  came  the  fragrance  of  many  groves  of  orange, 
citron,  and  pomegranate,  and  unnumbered  flowers. 
All  nature  was  at  rest  in  a  Sabbath  stillness — sleeping 
in  splendor  and  beauty. 

The  various  members  of  the  family  had  been  at  a 
social  gathering  on  the  previous  night,  and  all  showed 
the  natural  effects  of  coming  home  somewhat  late  in 
the  morning.  Each  one  wore  a  look  of  fatigue,  but 
Isabel  especially.  She  had  evidently  had  but  little 
sleep.  Richard  noticed  this,  and  said  that  it  was  not 
well  to  retire  so  far  into  the  small  hours.  "  It  is  not 
that,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  sorry  1  went  to  sleep  at 
all." 

"What  is  it?  my  daughter,"  asked  Mr.  Lamson. 
"  You  really  do  not  look  well," 

"I've  had  a  wretched  dream,  Father,"  she 
answered.  "  I  thought  I  was  drowned,  and  it  has 
somehow  taken  a  strong  hold  of  me." 

"A  dream!"  said  her  mother,  "  I  wouldn't  be  dis 
turbed  by  a  dream,  Bella." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Mother.  It  was  so  vivid  as  to 
seem  real.  It  seems  real  to  me  yet.  Richard,  do  you 
believe  in  dreams?  " 

"  Not  in  all  dreams,"  he  answered.  "  Some  are 
produced  by  traceable  natural  causes.  But,  if  we 
credit  the  Bible,  we  must  believe  that  some  are  given 
to  us  for  guidance,  and  forewarning.  What  was 
your  dream  ?  " 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  "that  I  was  bathing  in  the 


102  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

sea,  with  you,  and  father  and  mother,  and  a  great 
crowd  of  other  people.  I  got  out  beyond  the  surf 
into  deep  water,  and  there,  all  alone,  was  a  young 
woman  I  had  never  seen  before.  Suddenly  I  was 
taken  with  dizziness,  and  thought  I  was  about  to 
sink.  I  called  to  you  to  come  to  my  help,  and  then 
I  saw  that  the  strange  young  lady  seemed  to  be  sink 
ing,  too.  You  came,  as  I  thought,  towards  me ;  but 
you  passed  directly  by  me,  and  went  to  her.  You 
looked  where  I  was,  but  didn't  seem  to  see  me  ;  and 
I  called  again,  but  you  didn't  seem  to  hear.  You 
went  straight  to  her,  took  her  in  your  arms,  and 
carried  her  ashore." 

"Well,  what  became  of  you  ?"  asked  her  father. 

"  Why,  I  knew  I  was  lost ;  and  the  shock  woke  me 
up." 

"  And  you  found  it  all  a  dream ! "  said  Richard. 
"  The  young  woman  would  have  to  be  very  beautiful, 
Isabel,  to  tempt  me  to  pass  you  by  when  in  danger." 

"  She  zvas — more  beautiful  than  any  one  I  ever 
saw/'  she  said.  "  I  didn't  blame  you  for  passing  me — 
she  was  so  lovely." 

"  You  are  good  at  description,  Bella,"  said  her 
father,  pleasantly.  "Won't  you  give  us  her  por 
trait  ?  " 

"  I  can't,  Father,"  she  answered.  "  I  never  saw 
such  peculiar  beauty.  She  was  neither  blonde  nor 
brunette.  And  her  beauty  was  more  in  expression 
than  in  feature.  Her  hair  was  a  deep  auburn,  tinged 
with  gold  ;  her  eyes  were  neither  gray  nor  brown,  but 
a  shade  between— a  kind  of  deep  hazel — and  they 


NEWS   FROM  AMERICA.  IO3 

actually  blazed  with  soft  light.  But,  Richard,"  she 
exclaimed,  pausing  in  her  description,  and  look 
ing  intently  at  him,  "what  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"  Nothing,  that  I  am  aware  of,"  he  answered,  in  a 
careless  tone. 

"  But  something  must  be,"  she  persisted.  "  You 
are  as  pale  as  a  ghost." 

He  was  pale.  He  recognized  the  likeness,  and  the 
thought  arose  within  him,  "  What  is  the  meaning  of 
this?"  But  he  simply  said,  "  I  feel  a  trifle  chilly — 
I'll  move  my  chair  from  before  the  window." 

"  No,  I'll  close  it,"  said  Isabel,  rising.  As  she  did 
so  Sing  Tow,  regardless  of  decorum,  rushed  up  to 
the  veranda,  crying  out,  "Hi!  the  Clipperlee  !  the 
Clipperlee !  "  pointing  with  his  hand  out  to  sea. 

All  sprang  at  once  to  their  feet,  Mr.  Lamson  saying, 
"In  what  direction  is  she,  Sing?  Bring  me  my 
glass." 

The  Chinaman  had  doubtless  been  using  the  instru 
ment,  for  he  produced  it  at  once,  at  the  same  time 
pointing  to  what,  to  unaided  vision  seemed  a  mere 
speck  on  the  eastern  horizon,  saying,  "  It  ese  the 
Clipperlee.  Melican  lady  comee." 

Mr.  Lamson  took  a  long  observation,  then  handing 
the  instrument  to  Isabel,  he  said,  "  I  think  it  is  the 
Clipper.  But,  Bella,  look — you  know  every  spar  she 
carries." 

Isabel  gazed  for  a  moment  through  the  glass,  then 
handed  it  to  Richard,  saying,  "  I  haven't  a  doubt  it  is 
the  'Cleopatra,'  Father;  but  what  do  you  think, 
Richard  ?  " 


104  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

He  saw  the  tall,  tapering  masts  of  a  large  clipper- 
ship,  her  hull  half  down,  about  twenty  miles  out  at 
sea.  She  was  under  a  heavy  press  of  canvas,  and 
tacking  to  catch  every  breath  of  the  light  breeze,  but 
bearing  as  directly  for  port  as  the  wind  would  permit. 
"  I  cannot  speak  positively,"  he  said.  "  She  appears 
to  me  very  much  like  the  '  Cleopatra.'  ' 

He  handed  the  glass  back  to  Isabel,  who  now  took 
a  longer  observation.  After  a  few  moments  she  said, 
"  It  is  the  '  Cleopatra.'  She  has  a  yellow  belt  along  her 
side,  and  I  can  just  make  it  out — a  faint  dingy  line, 
scarcely  thicker  than  a  cambric  needle.  It  is  the 
'  Cleopatra.'  Sing,  get  up  the  Arabians,  and  the 
barouche." 

"You  need  not  be  in  such  haste,"  said  her  father. 
"  With  this  wind,  it  will  be  three  or  four  hours  before 
she  is  at  the  dock." 

"  But,  Richard  and  I  will  board  her  in  the  offing. 
You  don't  suppose  we  can  wait  four  hours  ?  " 

"  Let  Richard  go  alone,  Bella,"  said  her  mother. 
"Why  should  you  go?  It  is  not  entirely  safe." 

"Safe!"  echoed  the  young  lady.  "It  is  safe 
enough,  and  I  want  to  be  the  first  to  welcome  Miss 
Wilder  to  China." 

"  Let  her  have  her  own  way,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Lamson.  "  Sing,  put  the  horses  to,  directly." 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  the  entire  party  drew  up 
on  the  long  pier,  where  the  '  Cleopatra '  was  expected ; 
and  then  Sing  was  dispatched  in  pursuit  of  a  small 
boat.  He  could  find  only  a  simple  cockle-shell,  with 
two  oars,  and  one  uncushioned  seat. 


NEWS   FROM   AMERICA.  IO5 

"  You  must  not  go  in  such  a  thing  as  that,  Bella," 
said  her  father.  "  There  is  a  heavy  swell  outside.  It 
really  is  not  safe." 

"  If  it's  safe  for  Richard,  it's  safe  for  me,"  answered 
the  resolute  young  woman ;  and  soon  they  were 
speeding  over  the  blue  water  with  a  rolling,  but  rapid 
motion.  In  the  blazing  sun  the  sea  was  all  one  mol 
ten  mass  of  rippling  silver,  which,  as  the  oars  dipped 
and  rose,  fell  about  them  in  drops  glittering  like 
diamonds. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is,"  said  Richard,  watching  the 
falling  brilliants. 

"  Yes,  beautiful,"  replied  Isabel,  in  an  absent  way, 
much  unlike  her  usual  manner. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Bella?"  asked  Richard. 
"  There  is  no  danger.  I  wouldn't  have  let  you  come 
if  there  had  been." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  she  answered.  "  I  was  only  think 
ing — what  if  that  strange  young  woman  should  prove, 
to  be  Miss  Wilder !  If  so,  I  shall  be  drowned  before 
we  get  back.  Tell  me,  Richard,  what  kind  of  eyes 
has  she  ?  " 

"  Hazel,  very  large  and  dark." 

"And,  what  kind  of  hair?" 

"  Neither  brown  nor  auburn,  but  very  brilliant." 

"  And  it  is  gathered  in  a  knot  behind,  and  falls  in 
loose  ripples  over  her  neck  and  shoulders  ?  " 

The  young  man  made  no  reply,  and  she  said  quickly, 
"  Ah  !  you  recognize  her  !  You  did  when  I  told  my 
•dream." 

"  I  did,  Bella,"  he  answered.     "  I  do  not  know  what 


IO6  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

this  means ;  but  with  you  I  can  have  no  concealment. 
You  shall  judge  for  yourself,"  and  he  took  from  an 
inside  pocket  of  his  waistcoat  the  small  locket  which 
Charlotte  had  given  him,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

She  gazed  at  it  fixedly  for  a  moment,  then  ex 
claimed,  "  It  is  she !  I  should  know  her  among  a 
million.  Ah  !  Richard,  it  is  no  wonder  that  you  love 
her." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  a  moment, 
as  if  to  keep  out  the  sunlight.  When  she  looked  at 
him  again  her  eyes  were  moist,  though  she  had  not  been 
weeping.  She  evidently  was  using  great  strength  of 
will  to  control  her  emotions.  She  soon  spoke. 
"  Richard,"  she  said,  "I  don't  know  what  this  means, 
or  how  it  will  end.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  I  shall 
die;  but  I  know  some  terrible  thing  is  to  happen. 
Tell  me,  Richard,  have  I  ever  been  unkind  to  you,  or 
wounded  you  ?" 

"  You  never  have,  Bella.  No  sister  could  be  kinder 
to  me  than  you  always  are." 

"  I  have  tried  to  be — no,  I  have  not  tried — it  has 
come  natural.  And  whatever  happens,  you  will 
always  love  me  as  if  I  were  your  sister?  " 

"Always,  Bella,  you  are,  and  always  shall  be  my 
dear  sister." 

"  Well ;  that  is  all  I  want.  Let  us  say  no  more 
now  :  we  are  near  the  ship." 

Captain  Craig  was  on  the  quarter-deck,  and,  recog 
nizing  them,  removed  his  hat,  and  waved  his  hand  in 
salutation.  A  rope  was  thrown  to  them,  the  ladder 
was  lowered,  and  then,  assisting  Isabel  up  the  side, 


NEWS   FROM   AMERICA.  lO/ 

Richard  bounded  upon  the  deck.  The  Captain 
greeted  Isabel,  whom  he  had  known  from  her  infancy, 
with  great  cordiality,  but  towards  Richard,  who  was 
a  prospective  partner  in  the  commercial  house  he  had 
served  for  twenty  years,  his  manner  was  cool,  if  not 
actually  brusque.  The  young  man  restrained  himself 
for  a  moment,  then  said,  somewhat  imperiously, 
"  Captain,  be  good  enough  to  take  me  to  your  lady 
passenger." 

"  Sir,"  he  answered,  his  manner  changing  to  one  of 
much  embarrassment.  "  She  could — she  has  not  come, 
Sir.  But,  there  are  letters  for  you  in  the  cabin. 
Please  to  step  this  way,  Sir." 

"  Not  come  !  "  cried  Richard.     "  Why  not,  Sir  ?  " 

"  The  letters  will  tell  you,  Sir,"  said  Captain  Craig. 
"  Be  good  enough  to  step  this  way." 

Her  womanly  intuitions  sharpened  by  her  feelings, 
Isabel  saw  in  the  manner  of  the  Captain  the  foreshad 
owing  of  the  calamity  she  anticipated.  Putting  her 
hand  hastily  but  firmly  upon  Richard's  arm,  she  said 
in  a  low  tone,  "  It  has  come,  Richard  ;  the  unknown 
trouble,  but  control  yourself.  If  the  world  comes  to 
an  end  I  will  stand  by  you." 

He  heard  like  one  in  a  dream,  and  like  one  in  a 
dream,  he  walked  aft  into  the  cabin.  The  letters 
were  on  the  cabin  table,  and  with  a  trembling  hand 
the  captain  handed  them  to  him.  Richard  noticed 
the  captain's  extreme  embarrassment,  and  took  in  its 
meaning.  He  knew  the  tidings  the  letters  contained, 
and  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  him.  There  were  but 
two  letters,  both  with  the  superscription  of  Henshaw. 


108  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

He  tore  open  the  one  that  lay  nearest  to  his  hand,  and 
an  enclosure  dropped  from  it  to  the  floor  of  the  cabin. 
He  read :  "  My  dear  Richard — It  pains  me  greatly  to 
tell  you  that  the  report  in  my  last  is  confirmed  by  the 
enclosed  letter,  which  I  have  just  received  from 
Mr.  Cravan.  No  words  of  mine — " 

He  read  no  more.  Isabel  was  at  his  side,  and  had 
picked  up  the  fallen  letter.  Instinctively  divining 
what  he  would  have,  she  handed  it  to  him.  "  Be  cool, 
Richard,"  she  said,  "  be  cool.  Whatever  it  is,  be  a 
man." 

He  opened  the  letter  slowly,  deliberately,  as  if 
resolved  that  a  weak  girl  should  not  be  stronger  than 
he.  His  eye  skipped  the  first  paragraph,  and,  as  if 
lured  by  some  secret  attraction,  fell  upon  the  second : 
"  I  greatly  regret  to  inform  you  that  Miss  Charlotte 
Wilder  died  about  six  weeks  ago.  She  was  taken 
alarmingly  ill  on  the  receipt  of —  Here  the  paper 
fell  from  his  hand,  he  staggered  a  step  or  two  forward, 
then  fell  into  a  chair,  not  fainting  or  insensible,  but 
stunned  and  nerveless,  like  one  who  has  received  a 
heavy  blow  upon  the  head. 

"  Quick,  Captain  ! — quick.     Brandy  !  "  cried  Isabel. 

The  stricken  man  knew  all  that  passed  ;  but  he 
could  not  move  or  speak.  A  vise-like  grip  held  him 
powerless.  Isabel  put  the  flask  to  his  lips,  opened  his 
waistcoat,  and  loosened  his  neck-tie,  saying  while  she 
did  so,  "  Open  the  skylight,  Captain.  Give  him  more 
air.  He  is  suffocating." 

The  Captain  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  the  young 
man  revived  slightly.  The  vise-like  grip  relaxed  a 


NEWS    FROM   AMERICA.  .    109 

little,  but  only  a  little.  "  Now,  take  some  more 
brandy,  Richard,"  said  Isabel.  "  Don't  fear :  it 
won't  intoxicate  you." 

"Hadn't  I  better  call  the  doctor,  Miss  Isabel?" 
asked  the  Captain. 

"  No,  no  ! "  she  said.  "  Keep  them  all  away.  I 
know  what  to  do.  Keep  them  all  away.  And,  Cap 
tain,  get  out  your  best  boat,  and  best  crew.  Tell 
them  they  shall  have  twenty  Mexicans,  if  they  put  us 
ashore  in  an  hour."  As  the  Captain  left  the  cabin  she 
threw  her  arms  about  Richard,  and  moaned  out,  "  My 
poor,  poor  boy!  to  come  here  for  this!  My  poor, 
poor  Richard !  I  could  gladly  die  if  it  would  bring 
her  back  to  you." 

The  brandy  had  now  unloosed  his  tongue,  and  he 
answered,  feebly,  "  Nothing  can  bring  her  back,  dear 
Bella.  She  is  dead.  I  must  die  too." 

"  Don't  speak  so,  dear  Richard,"  she  said,  drawing 
him  more  closely  to  her.  "  We  can't  have  you  die. 
We  love  you  so.  Father,  and  Mother,  and  all — and  I, 
too,  Richard.  I  love  you.  It  would  kill  me,  if  you 
were  to  die." 

"You  are  a  dear,  good  girl,  Bella — too  good,"  and 
here  his  head  sank  down  upon  the  arm  of  the  chair, 
and  the  tears  came.  Seeing  this  Isabel  knelt  down  by 
his  side,  drew  his  head  upon  her  shoulder,  and  said, 
"  That  is  right,  Richard.  Cry — cry  as  hard  -as  you 
can.  It  will  do  you  good.  I  will  keep  them  all 
away.  Nobody  shall  see  you." 

His  tears  flowed  freely,  and  they  relieved  him ;  but 
in  a  short  while  the  vise-like  grip  came  again  upon 


1 10  THE   LAST  OF  THE   THORXDIKES. 

him.  Then  Isabel  offered  him  more  of  the  brandy, 
but  he  motioned  it  away.  "Take  it,  dear  Richard." 
she  said.  "  Take  it  to  please  me.  It  will  make  you 
strong  enough  to  start  home." 

As  he  took  it  he  said,  "  I  want  to  get  home — I 
want  your  mother." 

"You  shall  have  her,  soon.  She  will  be  at  the 
quay  waiting  for  us." 

The  Captain  now  entered  the  cabin,  saying,  "  The 
boat  is  lowered,  Miss  Isabel.  We  are  ready,  when 
you  are." 

Supported  by  Isabel  and  Captain  Craig,  Richard 
staggered  to  the  ship's  gangway.  Then  the  grip 
relaxed  its  hold,  a  sudden  faintness  came  over  him, 
and  he  would  have  fallen  to  the  deck  had  they  not 
held  him  up  by  main  force.  Isabel  gave  him  more 
brandy,  and  then  three  strong  men  lifted  him 
over  the  ship's  side,  and  into  the  boat.  What  fol 
lowed  he  was  able,  to  recall  only  indistinctly,  but  he 
remembered  that  he  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
Isabel  holding  his  head  upon  her  knees  ;  and  that, 
when  he  was  lifted  into  the  carriage  to  be  driven 
home,  Mrs.  Lamson  took  his  head  upon  her  lap, 
called  him  her  "  dear,  dear  boy,"  and  kept  her  arms 
about  him  all  the  way  to  the  mansion. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

STRANGE   EXPERIENCES. 

YOUNG  THORNDIKE'S  next  recollection  was  of  the 
following  day.  It  was  not  far  from  noon,  and  he  was 
lying  on  his  own  bed,  in  his  own  chamber.  Mr.  Lam- 
son,  his  wife,  daughter,  and  a  physician  whom  he 
knew,  were  standing  beside  his  bed.  He  was  fully 
conscious,  but  could  neither  move  his  limbs,  nor  open 
his  eyes.  The  same  grip  he  had  experienced  in  the 
ship's  cabin  was  still  upon  him.  His  soul  was  free, 
but  his  body  was  enchained.  He  heard  the  physician 
say,  "  It  is  a.  severe  attack,  but  the  worst  feature  is 
that  he  has  no  soul,  in  him.  His  nervous  system  has 
had  so  severe  a  shock  that  he  is  mentally  paralyzed. 
If  you  can  wake  up  his  mind — excite  in  him  a  desire 
to  live — his  vigorous  constitution  will  bring  him 
through." 

"Oh!  will  he  never  come  to  himself?"  asked  a 
voice  which  he  recognized  as  Isabel's. 

"  Yes,  he'll  awake  soon,"  said  the  medical  man. 
"  This  stupor  is  merely  the  effect  of  the  opiates  I  gave 
him  yesterday ;  but  the  fever  must  run  its  course.  I 
will  come  twice  a  day,  but  a  good  nurse  will  do  more 
for  him  than  medicine.  Do  you  know  of  one  ?  " 


112  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  We  will  nurse  him  ourselves,"  said  Isabel.  "  No 
one  would  do  as  well,  as  we  will." 

"  He  will  need  constant  watching,  night  and  day," 
said  the  Doctor,  "  and  the  least  unfavorable  turn 
must  be  reported  to  me  instantly.  Above  all  things, 
arouse  his  mind.  He  told  me  yesterday  that  he 
didn't  want  to  live,  and  would  not  live.  He  was 
probably  not  conscious  of  what  he  said,  but  it  shows 
his  deep-seated  feeling.  He  must  be  got  out  of 
that.  He  will  have  lucid  intervals  when  you  can 
talk  with  him  freely.  Then  get  him  in  love  with  life. 
Remind  him  of  what  he  has  to  live  for.  Most  men 
with  his  prospects  would  want  to  live  a  century." 

"  You  may  think  me  superstitious,  Doctor,"  said 
Mr.  Lamson,  "  but  I  have  strong  faith  in  prayer.  I 
know  some  good  women — will  it  do  for  them  to  come 
here,  and  pray  for  him?" 

"You  mean  the  Sisters.  Certainly.  Let  them 
come.  Only  tell  them  what  he  most  needs — to  be 
reconciled  to  life.  If  they  can  bring  him  into  that 
mood,  it  will  be  of  more  service  than  their  prayers." 

The  sick  man  dozed  off  once  more,  and  did  not 
wake  again  until  after  dark.  The  gas  was  burning 
low,  but  in  the  dim  light  he  could  distinguish  a  group 
of  kneeling  figures  around  his  bed.  Two  were  on 
either  side  of  it,  and  one  at  the  foot,  forming  thus, 
with  himself,  an  elongated  circle,  of  which  he  was  the 
apex,  the  figure  at  the  foot,  the  base.  He  could  not 
make  out  her  features,  but  the  soft,  musical  voice, 
could,  he  thought,  be  none  other  than  Sister  There 
sa's.  She  was  praying,  and  as  she  prayed,  the  gas 


STRANGE   EXPERIENCES.  113 

went  out,  the  room  disappeared,  and  he  could  see 
nothing  but  the  kneeling  figures  about  his  bed,  all 
enveloped  in  a  blaze  of  light  which  issued  from  each 
one,  and  streamed  upward  till  the  rays  blended 
together,  and  were  absorbed  in  a  more  brilliant  flame 
overhead.  This  light  fell  full  upon  the  uplifted  face 
of  the  praying  woman — and  such  a  face  he  had  never 
beheld.  It  was  like  those  that  his  boyish  dreams  had 
pictured  of  the  angels.  In  it  were  faith,  hope,  aspira 
tion,  all  fused  into  a  burning  love,  which  appeared  to 
wing  her  words  upward.  Soon  a  warm  glow  suffused 
his  frame,  a  strange  life  coursed  along  his  veins,  and 
something,  he  knew  not  what,  seemed  to  draw  him  up 
and  out  of  himself  into  a  higher  and  purer  atmos 
phere.  A  strong  yearning  seized  upon  him,  and  heed 
less  of  the  praying  woman,  his  feelings  broke  forth  in 
the  words — familiar  to  him  from  childhood,  but  never 
felt  till  then— 

"  Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee  ! 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 
That  raiseth  me." 

Then  he  seemed  to  be  lifted  up  from  his  bed,  and 
held  in  the  air  above  it ;  and  looking  down  he  saw 
the  Sister  rise  from  her  knees,  and  raise  her  hands 
aloft,  as  she  said,  "  Dear  Lord,  we  thank  thee  that 
thou  hast  bid  him  live — may  it  be  to  thy  glory."  In 
another  instant  the  scene  vanished,  and  opening  his 
eyes  he  beheld  again  the  accustomed  room,  the  gas 
burning  low,  and  the  draped  figures  standing  around 


114  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

the  bed  on  which  he  was  lying.  Then  all  this  passed 
away,  and  he  sank  into  a  slumber  into  which  neither 
sight  nor  sound  entered. 

When  he  awoke  again  the  gas  was  burning  more 
brightly,  and  the  clock  was  striking  for  midnight. 
Sing  Tow  lay  at  one  side  of  the  room,  asleep  on  a 
lounge,  and  Isabel  was  sitting  under  the  gas  burner, 
reading  some  open  letters.  He  seemed  to  have 
regained  the  usual  control  over  himself,  and  he  spoke 
to  her.  "  Bella,"  he  said. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  was  at  his  bedside  in 
an  instant.  "  What  is  it,  Richard?"  she  asked. 

"Kiss  rne,  dear,"  he  said  to  her. 

She  bent  down,  and  pressed  her  lips  to  his  forehead. 
Then  he  said,  "  You  are  so  kind,  Bella.  I  know  it 
all.  You  have  been  here  every  moment  since  I  was 
brought  home." 

"Yes,  and  shall  stay,  dear,  until  you  are  better," 
she  answered,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  forehead. 
"  The  Doctor  says  you  will  be  sick  some  days  ;  but 
you  have  less  fever  already.  But,  never  fear — I  shall 
not  leave  you." 

"  But  you  must,  Bella.  It  will  wear  you  out,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh  !  no,  it  will  not,"  she  answered  ;  "  But,  Richard, 
don't  talk  any  more  now.  It  will  fatigue  you." 

"  What  if  it  does  ?  "  he  said,  reaching  out,  and  tak 
ing  her  hand.  "  What  is  there  left  for  me  now,  Bella? 
You  know  I  expected  her,  and — she  didn't  come ;  but 
you  can't  know  what  she  was  to  me.  I  never  had 
father  or  mother — they  died  before  I  can  remem- 


STRANGE   EXPERIENCES.  115 

ber;  and  she  and  I  grew  up  from  little  children 
together.  I  was  a  good  deal  to  her  ;  but  she  was  all 
to  me,  and  more  than  all,  since  my  poor  uncle  died. 
All  my  hopes,  present  and  future,  were  centred  in  her, 
Bella.  And  to  lose  her  in  one  moment — just  when  I 
was  expecting  to  be  so  happy  with  her !  Oh !  it  is 
too — too  hard  !  And  you  don't  know,  Bella  !  I  am 
all  alone, — there  is  now  not  one  human  being  of  my 
blood  in  all  the  world." 

"  You  are  not  alone,  dear  Richard.  You  are  not 
alone.  You  have  us.  We  all  love  you." 

"  I  know  you  do,  and  I  love  you,  and  am  grateful 
for  your  love,"  he  said,  "  and  I  would  like  to  live, 
Bella,  if  it  would  grieve  you  to  have  me  die." 

"  Grieve  us,  Richard ! "  she  answered,  earnestly. 
"  It  would  break  our  hearts — it  would  break  my  heart. 
I  wanted  her  to  come,  and  make  you  happy  ;  for  she 
could  make  you  happier  than — we  can.  But,  Richard, 
you  know  you  have  promised  to  be  always  my 
brother;  and  how  can  you  be,  if  you  die?" 

Still  holding  her  hand  in  his,  he  closed  his  eyes,  and 
lay  for  some  minutes  without  speaking.  When  he 
again  turned  his  face  towards  her,  he  said  gently,  "  I 
do  not  deserve  to  be  so  loved.  I  should  be  ungrateful 
not  to  wish  to  live  to  make  some  return  for  all  the 
kindness  I  have  had  from  your  father,  and  mother, 
and,  more  than  all  from  you,  Bella." 

She  pressed  his  hand  warmly  in  both  of  hers,  as  she 
said,  softly,  "  Oh !  Richard,  you  make  me  so,  so 
happy." 

At  this  moment  the  door   noiselessly  opened,  and 


Il6  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

Mrs.  Lamson  entered  the  apartment.  Isabel  was  the 
first  to  perceive  her,  and  looking  up  smilingly  in  her 
face,  she  said,  "  Oh,  Mother,  Richard  wants  to  live — 
he  wants  to  live  for  us,  Mother ! " 

"  You  are  a  dear,  good  boy,"  said  the  older  lady, 
taking  her  daughter's  place  by  his  side.  "  Until  now 
God  has  denied  'me  a  son  ;  but  now — you  will  be  my 
son,  and  I  will  be  your  mother." 

Tears  came  into  the  young  man's  eyes  as  he  said, 
"  And  I  have  felt  that  I  was  all  alone,  when  I  had  such 
a  mother,  and  such  a  sister!  God,  I  know,  will  bless 
you  for  all  your  goodness  to  me." 

"Don't  talk  any  more  now,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lam- 
son.  "You  must  be  quiet.  I  fear  this  strong  emotion 
will  harm  you." 

"  It  won't  a  bit,  Mother,"  he  said,  "  I  am  growing 
stronger  every  moment.  Hadn't  you  better  send 
Sing  away,  and  let  Bella  go  to  her  room.  She  has 
been  up  two  nights  now,  and  it  will  wear  her  out." 

"She  can't  sleep,  and  neither  can  I,"  said  Mrs. 
Lamson.  "  And  is  it  well  to  leave  you  alone  ?  You 
are  threatened  with  a  serious  illness." 

"  Oh  !  no,  I'm  not.  The  Doctor  is  mistaken.  I  had 
a  hard  blow  on  the  head.  It  knocked  me  senseless, 
and  caused  a  slight  fever.  But  now  my  brain  has 
begun  to  act,  and  I  shall  be  up  to-morrow." 

"  The  Lord  be  thanked,"  said  the  good  woman,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears,  "  and  you  will  be  our  own  dear 
boy  again.  I  will  go  at  once  and  tell  my  husband." 

"  No,  don't,"  he  said,  "  Let  him  sleep.  It  will  be 
several  hours  to  daybreak.  But  go  yourself,  and  get 


STRANGE   EXPERIENCES.  1 1/ 

some  rest."  Then  drawing  her  down  to  him,  he 
kissed  her  tenderly,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  And  from 
this  moment  you  are  my  mother,  and  I  am  your 
son?" 

"  I  am  your  mother,  and  you  are  my  son,"  she 
repeated,  solemnly. 

And  it  was  so,  as  long  as  they  both  did  live. 

Then  Mrs.  Lamson  left  the  room,  and  Isabel,  rous 
ing  Sing  Tow,  sent  him  off  to  his  bed  ;  but,  turning 
down  the  gas  slightly,  she  resumed  her  seat  under  the 
burner,  and  sat  there  in  silence.  It  was  not  long 
before  Mr.  Lamson,  his  clothing  hastily  thrown  upon 
him,  entered  the  apartment.  Taking  the  young  man 
firmly,  but  quietly,  by  the  hand,  his  face  beaming 
with  delight,  he  said,  "Ah!  Richard,  I  thought  you 
would  pull  through  ;  but  I  am  glad  to  know  the  crisis 
is  over.  It  is  prayer  that  has  saved  you  ;  and  could 
that  poor  girl  have  had  such  help,  she  might  be  with 
you  now.  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  was  smitten  just 
as  you  were." 

The  young  man  made  no  reply  for  a  few  moments 
— the  thoughts  the  words  evoked  were  too  painful. 
Then  he  said,  "  Have  you  such  faith  in  the  power  of 
prayer,  Sir?  " 

"  I  have,  Richard.  In  all  important  crises  in  my 
life  it  has  been  my  safeguard.  Nobody  would  take  me 
for  a  godly  man  ;  but  I  keep  at  least  one  of  the  Apos 
tle's  injunctions — 'pray  without  ceasing.' ' 

"  Ah  !  Sir,  I  wish  I  were  as  good  a  man  as  you  are. 
I  every  day  see  in  you  something  to  emulate." 

"Good!  Richard,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lamson,  "  I  give 


Il8  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

away  a  little  money,  and  aim  at  doing  justly  by  all  ; 
but  don't  take  me  for  an  example.  If  I  had  my  life 
to  live  over,  I  could  vastly  improve  it.  But,  we  won't 
talk  any  more  now.  You  need  sleep  to  get  back  your 
strength." 

"  I  will  try  to  sleep,"  said  Richard,  lowering  his 
voice,  "and,  Sir,  don't  you  think  Bella  needs  it?  I 
have  spoken  to  her  about  it,  and  don't  like  to  speak 
again  lest  she  should  misunderstand  me." 

Mr.  Lamson  then  told  his  daughter  that  she  ought 
to  take  some  rest,  and  in  a  few  moments  they  left  the 
room  together. 

For  a  long  time  the  young  man  lay  awake,  absorbed 
in  his  reflections.  His  entire  life  passed  as  a  living 
panorama  before  him.  He  saw  his  happy  past,  his 
desolate  present,  his  hopeless  future — for  what  hope 
in  this  life  could  there  be  for  him,  when  the  only  two 
he  had  ever  loved  were  lying  in  their  graves,  the  width 
of  the  world  away  ?  And  those  two — were  they  still 
alive,  and  somewhere  loving  and  longing  for  him,  as 
he  for  them  ?  or,  while  their  bodies  were  mouldering 
back  to  dust,  had  their  spirits,  in  like  manner,  been 
resolved  into  the  finer  elements  from  which  they  came, 
to  be  again  the  common  air,  breathed  alike  by  man 
and  the  crawling  reptile?  And  that  future  world  in 
which  men  believed — had  it  any  existence?  If  it  had, 
what  was  it?  Illimitable  space?  "Space  which  is 
not  space,  time  that  is  not  time?"  a  formless,  measure 
less,  incomprehensible,  inconceivable  realm  of  eternal 
silence  ?  For  this,  he  thought,  was  the  future  life  in 
which  most  men  believed — this,  or  a  never-ending 


STRANGE   EXPERIENCES.  119 

camp-meeting,  an  eternal  chorus  of  praise  to  one  who 
died  some  two  thousand  years  ago — a  good  man,  no 
doubt,  but  a  weak,  suffering  human  being,  like  them 
selves.  In  either  faith  what  was  there  to  comfort  or 
support  a  soul  just  bereaved  of  all  it  had  loved  on  the 
earth  ? 

Tired  at  length  with  these  thoughts,  he  turned  his 
eyes  toward  the  window,  and  looked  out  upon  the 
night,  where  the  stars  were  shining  in  the  clear  sky, 
and  the  moon  was  riding  aloft  in  radiant  beauty. 
And  then  he  thought  that  if  this  world — man's  brief 
abiding-place — is  so  beautiful,  must  not  that  other 
world,  which  is  to  be  his  eternal  home,  be  far  more 
beautiful?  For  man  must  be  immortal.  There  is 
that  in  him  which  longs  for  continued,  unending  life, 
and  it  cannot  be  that  any  longing  of  the  soul  will  go 
unsatisfied.  In  all  nature  it  is  not  so.  The  plant 
asks  for  the  light,  and  the  sun  rises  ;  it  faints  for  food, 
and  the  dew  comes,  and  the  rain  falls  ;  and  if  senseless 
things  receive  their  desires,  shall  not  man,  who  is  the 
crown  of  all  nature  ?  So  there  must  be  for  him  a 
future  life  of  unending  joy  and  unfading  beauty, 
where  the  soul  shall  know,  and  forever  possess,  those 
it  has  loved  and  lost  on  the  earth. 

Thinking  these  thoughts  the  young  man's  head 
sank  once  more  upon  his  pillow,  and  then,  in  an 
instant,  the  gaslight  went  out  again,  the  stars  disap 
peared,  and  an  afternoon  sun  came  streaming  in  at 
the  window.  But  it  was  not  his  accustomed  room. 
Strange  paper  was  on  the  walls,  a  worn  carpet  on 
the  floor,  and  old-fashioned  furniture  crowded  the 


120  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORN  DIKl->. 

small  apartment.  And  stranger  still,  at  a  low  table  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  a  woman  was  seated,  with  a 
large  dog  asleep  at  her  feet.  Her  face  was  turned 
away  from  him,  but  he  could  see  that  she  was  bending 
over  some  open  letters,  which  were  spread  before  her 
on  the  table.  She  was  dressed  in  black,  and  thick 
streaks  of  white  interlaced  her  heavy  auburn  hair. 
"Who  can  she  be?"  he  asked  himself,  "and  what  is 
this  mountain  country,  which  in  this  spring-time  is 
arrayed  in  the  foliage  of  autumn  ?  " 

Moving  nearer  to  her,  he  looked  over  her  shoulder 
at  the  letters  she  was  reading.  They  were  worn,  and 
faded  by  time  and  much  handling,  and  on  one  was 
the  deep  stain  of  a  full,  heavy  tear.  In  her  right  hand 
she  held  a  small  miniature,  which  she1  gazed  at  long 
and  fixedly.  She  clasped  it  to  her  bosom,  and  trem 
bled,  trembled  unrestrainedly,  as  does  the  magnetic 
needle  when  an  electric  cloud  is  passing  through  the 
air.  Why  is  this?  Though  she  is  looking  another 
way,  does  she  feel  his  presence  ?  Now,  she  turns  -her 
face  toward  him,  and  he  sees  that  her  eyes  are  hollow, 
her  cheek  is  pallid,  her  hair  untimely  gray.  It  cannot 
be,  and  yet  it  is  !  It  is  his  own  Charlotte,  and  the 
letters  she  is  reading  are  his  own  letters.  He  holds  out 
his  arms  to  her,  and  utters  a  wild  cry.  "  Charlotte," 
he  says.  "  Come  to  me,  my  Charlotte  !  "  She  does 
not  heed  him,  and  again,  louder  and  more  passion 
ately,  he  calls,  "  Charlotte  !  Come  to  me,  Charlotte  !  " 

At  that  instant  the  door  of  his  room  was  thrown 
quickly  open  and  Isabel  rushed  to  his  bedside.  "  What 
is  it,  Richard  ?  "  she  asked.  "  What  is  it,  dear  ?  " 


STRANGE   EXPERIENCES.  121 

He  looked  at  her,  and  instantly  the  strange  scene 
vanished,  and  he  was  in  his  own  room  again.  "She 
was  here  but  a  moment  ago,"  he  said,  "and  now  she 
is  gone.  It  was  Charlotte,  but  oh !  so  altered, 
Bella." 

"  Poor,  dear  boy  !  "  she  said,  passing  her  hand  across 
his  forehead.  "  Poor,  poor  boy  !  She  was  not  here, 
dear  Richard." 

"But  she  was,  Bella,  as  real  as  you  are.  She  was, 
here  reading  my  letters,  with  Ponto  curled  up  at  her 
feet." 

"  Oh  !  no,  Richard,  I  know  that  nobody  has  entered 
the  room,"  she  answered.  "  But,  lie  down  now,  and 
let  me  sit  here,  and  read  to  you.  It  will  divert  your 
mind.  A  little  of  the  fever  has  come  back." 

He  lay  silent  for  a  few  moments,  pondering  the 
vision ;  then  he  said,  "  It  is  strange,  very  strange.  I 
have  not  left  my  bed,  and  she  cannot  have  come  here 
— can  it  be  that  my  mind  is  wandering  ?  But,  tell  me 
Bella.  How  is  it  that  you  heard  me  call  her?  How 
happened  you  to  be  so  near  ?  " 

"You  wouldn't  let  me  stay  in  your  room,  Richard," 
she  said,  "  so  I  placed  a  chair  in  the  hall,  and  waited 
there.  I  couldn't  leave  you  alone." 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you,  Bella,"  he  answered, 
"  but  I  don't  need  watching,  and  the  air  must  be 
chilly  in  the  hall." 

"  Then  let  me  stay  here.  I  am  so  anxious  about 
you  that  I  shall  not  sleep,  if  I  do  go  to  my  room.  I 
will  read  to  you  from  a  new  book  of  Tennyson's  that 
Captain  Craig  has  brought  me." 


122  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

"You  are  a  dear,  good  girl,"  he  said,  "and  I  shall 
have  to  do  as  your  father  does — let  you  have  your 
own  way." 

"  Thank  you,  dear."  Saying  this,  she  turned  up  the 
gas,  drew  a  chair  near  his  bedside,  and  read  to  him 
from  one  of  the  elegies  in  "  In  Memoriam,"  a  book  which 
had  very  recently  appeared  in  Europe  and  America. 
He  listened  attentively,  and  soon,  like  her,  he  became 
absorbed  in  the  subject.  Except  to  make  some  brief 
comment  on  the  poem,  neither  spoke  for  a  full  hour. 
Then  she  suddenly  looked  up  from  her  reading  and 
said  to  him,  "Richard,  why  do  the  dead  come  back? 
Why  do  they  not  rest  quietly  in  their  graves?" 

"  The  world  has  many  mysteries  we  cannot  solve, 
Bella;  but  are  we  sure  they  do  come  back?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "  The  Compradore 
thinks  so.  He  says  he  talks  with  them  as  I  am  talk 
ing  with  you.  And  that  is  the  belief  of  a  great  many 
of  the  more  intelligent  Chinese.  They  have  regular 
rooms  in  their  temples  for  holding  intercourse  with 
the  dead.  That,  I  suppose,  is  why  we  say  they  wor 
ship  their  ancestors." 

"  The  Chinese  are  naturally  superstitious ;  and 
though  the  Compradore  is  a  man  of  clear,  well-balanced 
mind,  and  strong  common  sense,  he  has  the  Chinese 
superstition  in  his  blood.  Nothing  but  my  own  expe 
rience  would  convince  me  of  it;  and  yet,  very  many 
of  the  great  men  of  our  own  race  have  believed  it — Soc 
rates,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Wesley,  Dr.  Doddridge, 
and  many  others.  I  would  like  to  know  it  to  be  true." 

I  wouldn't,"  she  said,  impulsively.     "  This  world  is 


STRANGE   EXPERIENCES.  123 

enough  for  me.  I  want  to  love  and  be  loved  here ; 
not  to  live  among  the  clouds — not  even  to  be  as  good 
as  Sister  Theresa.  With  father,  and  mother,  and  you 
to  love  me,  Richard,  I  am  content." 

"  But  if  we  were  to  die,  what  then  ?  "  he  asked,  smil 
ing. 

"  Then  I  should  want  to  go  to  you — then  I  should 
think  of  the  other  world,  day  and  night." 

"And  if  you  found  Charlotte  with  me  there,"  he 
asked,  in  a  gentle  tone,  "  would  not  that  make  you 
unhappy?  " 

"  No,  for  she  has  a  better  right  to  you  than  I — a 
wife  is  more  than  a  sister.  I  should  be  glad  she  was 
there,  and  I  should  love  you  just  the  same.  My  love 
for  you  could  not  be  true,  if  I  did  not  wish  all  the 
world  to  love  you  as  I  do." 

"  You  are  a  dear,  sweet  girl,  Bella,"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  tenderly.  "  Your  very  presence  in  the  room  is 
a  pleasure  to  me,  and  it  gives  me  strength.  While 
you  have  been  sitting  by  me,  I  have  felt  the  old  life 
coming  back." 

"  Then  you  will  let  me  come  as  often  as  I  please — 
come  and  breakfast  with  you." 

"Yes,  darling,  I  will  be  glad  to  have  you." 

"  Then,  I  will  go  now.  You  see  the  light  is  break 
ing.  I  will  fix  myself  up  a  little,  and  then  get  yo.ur 
breakfast,  and  bring  it  to  you."  Saying  this  she  now 
left  the  room. 

With  the  aid  of  Sing  Tow  the  young  man  soon 
afterwards  rose,  and  dressed  himself,  and  when  break 
fast  was  brought  in,  he  sat  down  to  it  with  Isabel, 


124  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

looking,  except  for  a  slight  pallor,  very  much  as  usual, 
Before  the  meal  was  fairly  over,  Mr.  Lamson  entered 
the  room.  "Ah!  Dick,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  to  see 
you  up.  With  a  few  days  quiet,  you  will  be  yourself 
again." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  hope  to  get  to 
the  office  by  to-morrow.  You  must  be  very  busy 
with  the  '  Cleopatra.'" 

"  Not  very,"  answered  Mr.  Lamson.  "  Captain 
Craig  has  volunteered  to  do  a  large  share  of  your 
work ;  and  I  have  decided  to  load  the  clipper  with  the 
teas  and  silks  we  intended  for  London  ;  so  the  cargo 
is  all  prepared,  and  you  will  not  be  needed.  You  had 
better  keep  quiet  for  a  week.  But,  those  letters  from 
Henshaw — what  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  has  not  read  them  yet,  Father,  I  have  kept 
them  till  he  should  be  strong  enough.  Here  they  are," 
said  Isabel,  drawing  the  two  letters  from  her  bosom. 

"Won't  you  read  them,  Bella?"  asked  Richard, 
moving  back  his  chair,  as  a  servant  entered  to  clear 
away  the  breakfast  things.  Seating  herself  upon  the 
lounge,  Isabel  then  read  the  letters  in  the  order  of  their 
dates.  The  first  said  that  on  the  receipt  of  Richard's 
letter,  Mr.  Henshaw  had  gone  to  the  home  of  Mrs. 
Wilder,  in  Dorchester;  but  had  found  the  house 
closed,  with  "To  Let,"  upon  a  post  at  the  gateway. 
By  inquiring  in  the  neighborhood,  he  learned  that  the 
family  had,  some  months  before,  removed  to  Western 
Massachusetts.  He  learned  also,  that  previous  to  the 
removal,  Charlotte  had  been  seriously  ill  for  several 
weeks,  and  it  was  understood  that  the  family  had 


STRANGE   EXPERIENCES.  12$ 

gone  away,  to  give  her  the  benefit  of  the  mountain 
air  of  Berkshire  County.  A  vague  rumor  was  afloat 
that  the  invalid  had  since  died  ;  but  he  could  trace  it 
to  no  reliable  authority.  However,  he  learned  defi 
nitely  that  the  widow  had  been  married  to  Mr.  John 
Cravan,  her  late  husband's  executor.  He  went  at 
once  to  Mr.  Cravan's  place  of  business  in  Boston,  but 
was  told  there  that  Cravan  had  some  two  months  pre 
viously  removed  to  New  York.  Obtaining  his  address, 
he  had  written  to  him,  and  he  hoped  to  get  his  reply 
in  time  to  forward  it  by  the  "  Cleopatra."  If  he  did 
not,  he  should  himself  proceed  to  Berkshire  County, 
and  obtain  definite  information.  The  letter  closed  by 
expressing  the  earnest  hope  that  his  next,  which 
would  accompany  it,  would  convey  more  welcome 
tidings. 

His  second  letter  was  briefer  than  the  first.  It  said 
that  the  enclosure  which  he  had  just  received  from 
Mr.  Cravan,  unhappily  confirmed  the  melancholy 
rumor  he  had  mentioned  ;  and  this  was  followed  by 
such  expressions  of  sympathy  and  regret  as  were  nat 
ural  to  a  warm-hearted  friend  in  the  circumstances. 
Cravan's  letter  was  as  follows : 

No.  17  BROADWAY, 
NEW  YORK,  August  8,  1850. 

"  Mr.  CHARLES  HENSHAW, 

"  Long  Wharf,  Boston,  Mass. 

"  Dear  Sir  : — Your  valued  favor  of  6th  instant, 
making  inquiry  in  regard  to  Miss  Charlotte  Wilder 
on  behalf  of  Mr.  Richard  Thorndike,  came  to  hand  by 
yesterday's  mail ;  but  I  have  deferred  a  reply  to  con- 


126  THE   LAST  OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

fer  with  the  young  lady's  mother,  not  knowing  but 
she  might  have  some  special  message  to  send  to  that 
young  gentleman,  whom  we  have  so  long  supposed  to 
be  dead. 

"I  greatly  regret  to  inform  you  that  Miss  Wilder 
died  about  six  weeks  ago.  She  was  seized  with  an 
alarming  illness  on  the  receipt  of  the  news  of  Mr. 
Thorndike's  loss  at  sea,  and  for  several  weeks  hung 
between  life  and  death.  However,  she  at  length  ral 
lied  enough  to  be  conveyed  to  Berkshire  County, 
where  it  was  hoped  that  the  change  of  air  would  bene 
fit  her.  But  it  did  not.  She  sank  into  a  rapid  decline, 
and  soon  passed  quietly  and  peacefully  away.  I 
deeply  sympathize  with  young  Mr.  Thorndike  in  his 
loss  ;  and  how  great  that  loss  is,  only  those  can  appre 
ciate  who  have  known  Miss  Wilder,  and  loved  her,  as 
we  have. 

"'Mrs.  Wilder — now  my  wife — who  is  with  me  as  I 
write,  begs  to  be  kindly  remembered  to  yourself  and 
Mrs.  Henshaw. 

"I  enclose  a  draft  for  $1,000,  forwarded  by  Mr. 
Thorndike  to  Miss  Wilder,  by  the  last  China  mail, 
which  please  return  to  him. 

"  I  am,  dear  sir, 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

"JOHN  CRAVAN." 

The  young  man  heard  the  letters  read  without 
apparent  emotion,  and  when  Isabel  had  concluded, 
said  to  Mr.  Lamson,  "  Do  you  know,  Sir,  that  I  have  a 
vague  feeling  that  Charlotte  is  alive?  Do  you  not 


STRANGE   EXPERIENCES.  I2/ 

observe  that  Cravan  deferred  replying  to  Mr.  Hen- 
shaw's  simple  question,  till  he  had  conferred  with 
Charlotte's  mother?  He  knew  very  well  that  she 
would  have  no  message  to  send  to  me,  and  she  sends 
none,  not  even  the  condolence  that  is  natural  in  such 
circumstances.  Is  not  the  reason  he  gives  for  his 
delay  a  mere  subterfuge  ?  Are  they  not  deceiving  us  ? 
and  did  he  not  want  Mrs.  Wilder  present  to  help  him, 
with  her  keen  intellect,  to  concoct  the  deception  skil 
fully  ?  " 

"The  thought  hadn't  occurred  to  me,  Richard," 
said  Mr.  Lamson,  "  but  it  looks  so.  Bella,  please  to 
let  me  see  Mr.  Cravan's  letter." 

While  he  was  reading  it  through  carefully,  the 
young  man  said,  "  And  another  thing,  Sir,  has  im 
pressed  me  strangely.  You  may  think  me  supersti 
tious,  but  I  must  tell  you.  I  had  a  strange  experience 
last  night — it  was  not  a  dream,  for  I  was  fully  awake." 

Then  he  went  on  to  detail  his  vision,  and  at  the 
close  Mr.  Lamson  said,  "  And  you  say  that  she  was  in 
a  mountain  country  like  Berkshire,  and  that  the  time 
of  the  year  was  autumn — several  months  after  the 
date  they  have  given  for  her  death.  This  all  may 
have  some  other  meaning ;  but  we  must  have  Hen- 
shaw  thoroughly  investigate  the  matter  when  the 
'  Cleopatra  '  returns  to  Boston.  We  can't  get  word  to 
him  till  then.  Meanwhile,  Richard,  tell  at  once  the 
vision  to  Sister  Theresa.  She  may  be  able  to  explain 
it,  for  she  has  had  many  such  experiences.  She  will 
be  here  this  morning  to  learn  how  you  are." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SISTER   THERESA. 

FOR  a  couple  of  hours  after  Mr.  Lamson  had  left 
the  room  the  young  man  sat,  reclined  in  a  high- 
backed  chair,  while  Isabel  read  to  him  from  the  new 
volume  of  Tennyson.  They  were  thus  engaged  when 
the  two  Sisters  were  ushered  into  the  apartment. 
Isabel  paused  in  her  reading,  and  Richard  rose  to 
greet  them  ;  but  the  elder  Sister  said,  quickly,  "  Do 
not  rise,  Sir.  Pray  keep  your  seat.  But,  you  are  not 
looking  so  ill  as  we  expected  to  see  you." 

"  No,  Madam,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  not  seriously  ill. 
But,  please  be  seated.  I  am  very  glad  you  have 
come." 

As  the  two  took  the  seats  which  Isabel  drew  for 
ward,  Richard  glanced  hastily  at  their  appearance. 
They  wore  the  usual  sombre  garb  of  the  Sisterhood, 
and  about  the  older  one  there  was  nothing  striking  or 
peculiar.  But  the  younger  would  have  anywhere 
arrested  attention.  She  was,  perhaps,  thirty  years  of 
age,  with  a  slight  figure,  and  regular,  delicate  features ; 
but  it  was  not  these  that  struck  one  as  extraordinary. 
It  was  her  large,  serene  eyes,  filled  with  a  soft,  spirit 
ual  light,  and  a  certain  rapt,  far-away  expression,  that 
at  once  attracted  the  beholder.  When  they  were 


SISTER    THERESA.  1 29 

seated  she  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  We  felt  sure  you 
would  get  well,"  she  said,  "  but  you  are  recovering 
more  rapidly  than  we  anticipated." 

"  Yes,  Madam,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  gaining  strength 
surprisingly  fast.  I  attribute  it  to  Miss  Isabel.  She 
has  been  with  me  most  of  the  night,  and  I  have  felt 
her  simple  presence  giving  me  strength,  but  more 
especially,  the  holding  of  her  hand  in  mine." 

"Yes, "she  said,  "the  magnetism  of  a  true,  pure 
woman  is  powerfully  life-giving  ;  and  in  your  very  sen 
sitive  condition  you  have  felt  it  strongly." 

"  And  can  you  tell  me  why,  and  how,  this  is  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Because  she  is  all  purity  and  truth,  and  those  ele 
ments,  with  that  of  love,  are  the  most  potent  forces  in 
the  universe.  We  all  have  about  us  an  atmosphere 
which  is  the  emanation  of  our  inmost  being.  You 
feel,  and  inhale,  that  of  Isabel  when  she  is  in  the 
room,  but  when  she  touches  your  hand,  it  flows  into 
your  nature  directly." 

"  Then  my  being  with  him  has  done  him  no  harm," 
said  Isabel.  "Often  I  have  felt  the  impulse  to  hold 
his  hand,  but  have  refrained,  fearing  it  might  not  be 
maidenly." 

"  Don't  let  that  deter  you,  my  dear,"  said  the  Sister. 
"Sit  beside  her  now,  Mr.  Thorndike,  and  hold  her 
hand,  while  Sister  Mary  and  I  draw  our  chairs  nearer 
to  you.  The  experiment  will  test  what  you  may  con 
sider  only  a  fanciful  theory." 

The  assigned  positions  being  taken,  the  conversa 
tion  proceeded.  "  I  have  wanted  to  see  you,  Madam," 
9 


130  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

said  Richard,  "  to  relate  to  you  some  singular  experi 
ences  I  had  during  the  night.  Mr.  Lamson  has  sug 
gested  that  you  might  give  me  some  explanation  of 
them." 

The  Sister  having  expressed  a  desire  to  hear,  the 
young  man  went  on  to  relate  the  two  visions  he  had 
experienced,  asking  at  the  close  what  explanation  she 
could  give  of  them. 

"  The  explanation  is  very  simple,"  she  said,  "  your 
spiritual  sight  has  been  opened,  and  you  have  seen 
into  the  spiritual  world  that  is  everywhere  about  us. 
There  has  happened  to  you  what  happened  to  the 
servant  of  Elesius,  when  the  prophet  prayed  and  said, 
'  Lord,  open  his  eyes,  that  he  may  see.  And  the 
Lord  opened  the  eyes  of  the  servant,  and  he  saw,  and 
behold  the  mountain  was  full  of  horses,  and  chariots 
of  fire  round  about  Elesius.'  Such  experiences  are 
not  uncommon  to  spiritually-minded  people." 

"  But,  I  saw  you  two,  and  Isabel,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lamson,  in  the  bodies  you  have  now,  though  a  radiant 
light  seemed  to  flow  from  you." 

"  Exactly,"  she  answered,  "  you  saw  us  in  our  spir 
itual  bodies:  just  as  the  disciples  saw  our  Lord,  when 
he  was  with  Moses  and  Elias  on  the  mount.  It  is 
usual  to  say  that  he  was  transfigured  ;  but  it  was  not 
so.  There  was  no  change  in  Him  ;  it  was  all  in  them. 
The  whole  context  of  the  three  accounts  shows  that. 
The  sleep  the  disciples  were  in  was  the  magnetic  sleep. 
In  that  state  their  spiritual  eyes  were  opened,  and  they 
saw  the  Lord,  as  he  was  spiritually.  The  closing  of 
their  spiritual  sight  seemed  to  them  like  a  cloud  pass- 


SISTER    THERESA.  131 

ing  over  them — so  it  always  seems  to  me,  and  so  it 
probably  did  to  you." 

"It  did  seem  so,"  he  answered,  "and  I  remember 
that  through  it  all  my  eyes  were  closed.  When  I 
opened  them,  I  saw  you  and  the  others  as  you  appear 
naturally.  But,  I  felt  something  drawing  me  irresist 
ibly  upward.  In  fact,  I  thought  I  was  actually  lifted 
from  the  bed.  How  do  you  explain  that  ?  " 

"Our  Lord  says  that  '  If  two  of  you  shall  consent 
upon  earth,  concerning  anything  whatsoever  they 
shall  ask,  it  shall  be  done  to  them  by  my  Father  who 
is  in  heaven.'  It  is  not  that  He  cannot  answer  the 
prayers  of  an  individual — for  He  does  that  times  with 
out  number  every  day — but  that  the  harmonious  ask 
ing  of  more  than  one  opens  a  readier  avenue  for  his 
life-giving  power.  It  is  simply  a  spiritual  law,  and 
spiritual  laws  are  as  inflexible  as  natural  laws.  Even 
our  Lord  when  on  the  earth  obeyed  them — He 
required  faith — confidence  in  his  power  to  heal— 
because  it  opened  the  door  by  which  his  living  efflu 
ence  could  flow  in,  and  heal  the  suffering.  You 
lacked  vital  force — were  dying  of  inanition — were 
already  dead  in  your  will.  We  gathered  about  you 
and  earnestly  prayed  the  Lord  Jesus  to  give  you  of 
his  life,  to  raise  you  from  the  dead,  as  he  did  Lazarus, 
and  return  you  to  us,  and  to  the  world.  Our  very 
souls  went  up  in  our  words,  and  they  brought  the 
angels  down  to  our  help  ;  and  then  our  life  and  theirs 
— all  of  which  is  from  the  Lord — flowed  into  your 
veins,  and  with  such  power  that  you  were  uplifted, 
drawn,  as  it  were,  out  of  yourself,  and  nearer  to  God. 


132 


THE   LAST  OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 


It  was  they,  not  we,  who  drew  you  upward  ;  but  it  was 
our  life,  blended  with  their  life,  that  saved  you  alive." 
Similar  cases  to  this  of  yours  were  common  in  the 
Apostle's  times.  You  will  find  instances  of,  and  allu 
sions  to,  such  cures  all  through  the  Epistles ;  and 
Saint  James  says  distinctly  that  "  The  prayer  of  faith 
shall  save  the  sick."  And  the  life-giving  power  of 
other's  magnetism  is  often  referred  to  in  the  Bible. 
You  remember  the  case  of  David  in  his  old  age  and 
the  young  maiden ;  and  an  instance  where  this  power 
acted  without  express  prayer,  was  when  Saint  Paul 
was  stoned,  cast  out  of  the  city,  and  left  for  dead. 
It  is  said  that  the  disciples  gathered  about  him,  and 
directly  he  rose  upon  his  feet,  and  went  his  way.  It 
is  not  reported  that  they  uttered  one  word.  Doubt 
less  it  was  the  yearning  love  and  pity  which  flowed 
out  from  them,  that  infused  their  life  into  his  veins. 
And  such  cases  are  common  now.  Wherever  there  are 
pure  hearts,  faith,  and  sincere  love  of  our  Lord,  there 
is  this  power.  It  is  a  spiritual  law,  and  it  exists  every 
where  and  always.  It  is  God's  mode  of  action — His 
nature,  just  as  it  is  our  nature  to  do  things  in  certain 
ways,  and  not  in  others.  And  to  obtain  results  we 
must  conform  to  God's  laws,  for  He  is  Law  itself." 

"  And  did  you  see  the  angels  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  saw  their  light — it  was  so  dazzling  I  could 
not  see  their  forms — and  the  moment  I  beheld  it  I 
knew  you  would  be  saved." 

''  I  saw  that  confidence  in  your  face,"  he  said, 
"which  shone  like  the  sun.  These  things  are  won 
derful  to  me.  If  I  could  experience  them  in  my  wak- 


SISTER    THERESA.  133 

ing  senses,  I  should  never  again  have  doubts — as  I 
sometimes  do — of  a  life  after  death." 

"  If  one  has  not  the  open  vision,"  she  answered, 
"  the  only  sure  proof  his  reason  can  have  of  another 
life,  is  the  word  of  our  Lord  ;  but  we  have  his  prom 
ise  that  if  any  man  will  do  his  will,  he  shall  '•know  of 
the  doctrine.'  That  evidence  the  saints  have  had  in 
all  ages,  and  it  has  sustained  them  at  the  stake,  and 
on  the  scaffold.  And  it  is  a  proof  that  is  within  the 
reach  of  all."  Then  looking  at  him  for  a  moment, 
she  added,  "  If  you  can  believe  your  own  eyes,  I  will 
now  give  you  ocular  evidence  that  it  was  our,  and  the 
angels',  inflowing  life  that  drew  you  back  from  the 
brink  of  the  grave." 

Rising  then  she  went  to  the  mantel-shelf,  and  taking 
from  it  a  small  mirror,  resumed  her  seat,  and  held  it 
before  him.  "  Look,"  she  said,  "  and  tell  me  if  you  do 
not  appear  as  you  did  before  you  were  sick." 

He  saw  the  red  glow  of  health  upon  his  cheeks, 
and  that  his  eyes  had  resumed  their  natural  brilliancy ; 
and  this  he  admitted  to  Sister  Theresa. 

"  And  yet,"  she  said,  "  when  we  came  into  the 
room  your  eyes  were  dull,  and  your  face  had  the  pallid 
hue  of  one  just  over  a  dangerous  illness." 

'.'  Have  you  not  felt  the  loss  of  the  life-force  you 
have  given  to  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered;  "and  Isabel  should 
have  received  new  strength,  for  where  there  is  actual 
contact  the  meeting  of  the  two  currents  creates  an 
other  force,  which  gives  new  life  to  both.  How  do 
you  feel,  Miss  Isabel?  " 


134 


THE   LAST  OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 


"Very  buoyant,"  she  answered,  "just  as  if  I  had 
taken  a  single  glass  of  wine.  I  shouldn't  mind  if  I 
had  to  hold  his  hand  all  day." 

"  Hold  it  as  long  as  you  like,  dear,"  said  the  Sister. 
"  In  doing  good  to  others,  we  do  good  to  ourselves. 
It  is  the  universal  law,  both  in  things  natural  and 
things  spiritual.  We  are  all  members  of  one  body, 
linked  to  one  another  by  invisible  chains.  Among 
good  people  the  link  is  love,  and  it  is  that  which  holds 
the  spiritual  universe  together,  just  as  its  analogue 
attraction,  holds  the  natural  creation.  It  was  our  love 
for  you,  going  up  in  aspiration  to  our  Lord,  that  drew 
the  angels  down.  They  could  not  have  resisted  its 
influence  without  doing  violence  to  their  natures." 

"  Will  you  not  let  me  ask  you  now,"  said  the  young 
man,  "  the  meaning  of  the  other  vision?  " 

"  If  the  young  lady  were  not  dead,"  answered  the 
Sister,  "  I  should  say  it  was  simply  clairvoyance, 
which  differs  from  spiritual  sight  only  in  being  gener 
ally  confined. to  natural  objects.  In  that  state  the 
natural  senses  are  asleep — the  room,  and  what  was 
in  it,  faded,  you  say,  from  your  sight — but  the  percep 
tions  of  the  spirit  are  exceedingly  active  and  acute. 
The  mind  is  freed  from  the  trammels  of  the  body,  and 
time  and  space  become  as  nothing  to  it.  It  sees 
distant  objects  as  if  they  were  present — just  as  you 
thought  yourself  in  that  room,  when  you  were  fifteen 
thousand  miles  away  ;  and  as  Swedenborg  so  distinctly 
saw  as  to  minutely  describe  during  its  progress,  a  fire 
occurring  in  Stockholm,  when  he  was  as  far  distant  as 
Germany.  It  has  been  observed  in  all  countries  and 


SISTER    THERESA.  135 

ages  of  the  world ;  and  Apuleius,  a  Latin  author  who 
wrote  in  the  second  century,  speaks  of  it  as  common 
in  his  day,  and  accurately  describes  it.  It  gives  us 
some  faint  conception  of  the  powers  we  shall  possess 
when  our  souls  are  liberated  from  our  natural  bodies. 
In  us  this  power  is  fitful  and  abnormal ;  but  in  our 
Lord  it  was  entirely  normal,  and  coincident  with  his 
natural  senses,  as  were  spirit  sight,  and  all  the  other 
spiritual  senses  and  perceptions.  It  was  by  it  that  he 
saw  Nathaniel  when  under  the  fig-tree ;  discerned 
from  among  ten  thousand  fishes  the  one  with  the 
stater  in  its  mouth ;  witnessed  the  recovery  of  the 
nobleman's  servant  when  he  was  fourteen  miles  away  ; 
and,  more  strikingly,  when  he  beheld  beforehand  the 
destruction  of  Jerusalem,  his  eye  piercing  through  all 
the  complications  and  contingencies  of  coming  events 
for  forty  years,  and  seeing  the  terrible  catastrophe  in 
all  its  details — the  city  encompassed  with  armies,  and 
hemmed  in  on  every  side ;  the  trench  that  was  dug 
about  it ;  the  temple  with  not  one  stone  left  upon 
another ;  and  the  Jewish  people  falling  by  the  edge  of 
the  sword,  and  carried  away  captive  among  all  na 
tions. 

"  The  opening  of  your  spiritual  eyes,"  she  continued, 
"  so  that  you  saw  us  who  were  about  you,  as  spirits, 
shows  that  you  were  in  a  condition  bordering  on  the 
clairvoyant  state  ;  the  only  argument  against  your 
having  seen  the  young  lady  as  she  was,  alive  and  on 
earth,  is  the  report  that  she  is  dead.  I  should  ques 
tion  her  death,  unless  I  had  positive  and  reliable 
evidence  of  it.  The  only  other  explanation  of  the 


136  THE   LAST   OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

occurrence  that  I  can  give,  is  that  spirits  have  the 
power  to  make  imaginary  scenes,  existing  in  their 
minds,  appear  to  us  as  realities.  It  is  possible  that 
they  showed  you  a  vision  of  the  young  woman  as  she 
was  just  before  she  died,  that  you  might  know  that 
her  thoughts  were  absorbingly  fixed  upon  you  to  the 
very  last.  It  is  possible  that  she  died  from  grief  over 
your  loss." 

"  It  was  so,  Richard.  She  is  dead  !  "  said  Mr.  Lam- 
son,  who  had  entered  the  room  while  the  Sister  was 
speaking.  "  I  have  found  a  notice  of  her  death  in  both 
the  Boston  Transcript,  and  Advertiser.  It  was  not  in 
the  death  column,  but  among  the  editorials,  and  for 
that  reason  I  have  overlooked  it  till  now." 

The  young  man  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and 
sat  for  some  moments  without  speaking.  The  last 
faint  hope,  which  had  for  a  moment  dawned  upon 
him,  had  gone  out  forever. 

The  Sister  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  You  have  been 
sorely  stricken,  my  dear  friend,"  she  said,  "  and  no 
words  of  ours  will  avail  to  comfort  you.  But  do  you 
not,  while  you  mourn  a  human  love,  forget  the  love 
of  our  Lord,  who  all  your  life  has  carried  you  in  his 
arms,  and  sheltered  you  in  his  bosom  ?  Your  human 
love  has  been  taken  from  you,  and  you  are  desolate. 
You  would  not  be  so,  had  your  supreme  affection 
been  set  on  Him.  No  human  love,  had  you  it  in  pos 
session,  would  fill  your  soul.  Mrs.  Browning  is  right 
in  saying: 

'  Nor  man  nor   nature  satisfy 
Whom  only  God  created.'  " 


SISTER    THERESA.  137 

"  I  know  what  your  belief  is,  Madam,"  said 
Richard,  in  a  most  kindly  tone,  "  but  I  have  been 
educated  in  a  faith  which  has  taught  me  that  Christ 
can  help  me  no  more — and  not  so  much — as  my  dear 
friends  here,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lamson,  and  Isabel." 

"  I  understand,"  she  answered — "  you  have  been 
taught  that  Christ  was  a  mere  man,  that  the  gospel 
histories  are  myths,  and  the  miracles,  impossible  things. 
I  know  it  all,  for  I  was  myself  brought  up  in  that 
faith  ;  and  I  lived  in  that  land  of  ice,  and  snow,  and 
desolation,  till  I  was  a  woman  grown.  Then  one  day 
a  heavy  blow  crushed  me  to  the  earth,  as  you  have 
been  crushed.  For  long  I  lay  there  stunned,  and  in 
the  darkness.  Then  a  faint  gleam  of  light  broke  in 
upon  me,  and  following  it,  I  came  out  to  where  the 
sun  is  shining  on  a  day  that  never  sets.  And  you  will 
find  that  light,  if  you  follow  it  as  I  did.  And  when 
you  have  found  it,  all  human  love  will  be  swallowed 
up  in  the  Divine  Love.  Then  you  will  see  that  Jesus 
— -whom  you  now  esteem  only  a  man — is  in  reality  the 
one  and  only  being  who  is  worthy  of  the  supreme  de 
votion  of  the  soul.  You  will  not  love  your  lost  one 
the  less,  but  you  will  love  Him  the  more,  and  He  will 
lead  you  at  the  last  to  where  she — more  loving  and 
beautiful  than  your  mind  can  picture — will  be  yours 
forever." 

After  a  few  moment's  pause,  as  if  from  a  natural 
hesitation  to  unbosom  himself  to  a  stranger,  the  young 
man  said,  "  I  have  been  engrossed  in  the  affairs  of  life, 
Madam,  but  I  have  not  been  altogether  unmindful  of 
my  Creator.  I  recognize  my  accountability  to  Him, 


138  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

and  am  convinced  that  the  character  I  form  here  will 
remain  with  me  in  the  Hereafter,  and  will  decide  my 
condition  and  surroundings  there.  But  with  my  present 
views,  I  should  be  guilty  of  idolatry  if  I  accorded  any 
more  honor  to  Jesus  than  to  Siddhartha,  Confucius, 
Socrates,  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  a  few  other  great  and 
good  men  who  have  lived  in  the  world." 

"You  are  that  young  man  in  the  Gospels,"  she  said, 
"  who  '  had  kept  all  these  things  from  his  youth  up,'  but 
was  told  that  in  one  thing  he  was  wanting.  Had  that 
been  yours,  you  would  not  have  felt  as  you  have,  the 
loss  of  a  mere  earthly  object.  That  '  one  thing '  is  a 
true  knowledge  of  Christ.  I  would  not  obtrude  my 
views  upon  you ;  but  they  have  given  me  comfort,  and 
they  may  do  the  like  for  you." 

"  I  shall  welcome  any  light  you  can  give  me  on  this 
important  subject,"  he  answered.  "  If  I  know  myself, 
I  am  ready  to  accept  the  truth,  whatever  it  is,  and 
however  much  it  may  conflict  with  my  present  opin 
ions." 

"  Before  I  give  you  my  views,"  she  said,  "allow  me 
to  ask  you  for  yours.  In  what  light  do  you  regard  the 
Gospels  ?  " 

"  I  think  they  have  a  basis  of  fact,"  replied  the 
young  man.  "  I  believe  that  such  a  man  as  Jesus 
lived  and  died  in  Palestine,  during  the  reign  of  Tibe 
rius  Caesar.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  led  a  pure 
and  spotless  life — was  a  genuinely  good  man,  and  that 
he  said  many  remarkable  things,  some  of  which  were 
new,  and  some  not  new;  and  that,  according  to  the 
custom  with  teachers  in  his  time — he  gathered  about 


SISTER    THERESA.  139 

him  a  body  of  disciples,  who,  on  account  of  his  amia 
ble  character,  became  devotedly  attached  to  him.  I 
think  that  these  disciples,  in  their  great  sorrow  over 
his  untimely  death,  when  their  minds,  sensitive  from 
grief,  would  eagerly  catch  at  the  slightest  hope  that 
he  was  again  alive,  did  imagine  that  they  saw  him 
risen  from  the  dead,  and  perhaps  did  actually  see  him 
thus — though  about  this  my  mind  is  not  clear.  But  if 
they  did  see  him  after  his  death,  it  was  as  a  spirit — as 
other  dead  men  have  been  seen,  and,  as  Mr.  Lamson 
tells  me,  you  and  the  Compradore  see  and  converse 
with  them  almost  daily.  I  think,  too,  that  this  fact, 
coupled  with  his  perfect  life,  convinced  the  disciples 
that  Jesus  was  a  supernatural  being,  and  that,  fully 
believing  this,  and  that  he  was  a  messenger  from  God, 
they  went  out  and  preached  everywhere"  his  moral  max 
ims,  and  the  world  received  them ;  for  it  was  conscious 
of  being  in  a  state  of  moral  putrefaction,  and  gladly 
welcomed  any  medicine  that  gave  promise  of  restoring 
it  to  a  healthy  life.  But  the  first  disciples  preached 
simply  the  words  of  Christ,  not  the  doctrines  of  your 
church — that  He  is  God,  and  that  faith  in  him  is  essen 
tial  to  salvation.  Such  ideas  were  the  growth  of  after- 
years,  and  were  not  fully  moulded  into  a  system  until 
the  Council  of  Nice,  in  the  year  325,  when  Christianity 
had  become  the  national  religion,  and  Constantine  saw 
the  necessity  of  some  formula  by  which  to  secure  its 
being  understood,  and  generally  accepted,  by  the 
Roman  people.  Then  Christ  was  erected  into  the 
Supreme  Being,  and  that,  and  the  legend  of  miracles, 
gave  the  new  faith  unresisted  sway.  These  facts  are, 


1 40  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

I  think,  clearly  established  by  Church  history,  and  by 
Lardner,  Paley,  and  Norton,  in  their  "  Evidences  of 
Christianity."  And,  according  to  my  reading,  they  are 
the  only  facts  that  are  clearly  established.  A  good 
and  greatly-gifted  man  who  was  an  honor  to  the  race, 
was  the  skeleton  which  was  galvanized  into  the  sem 
blance  of  life,  and  clothed  with  an  unnatural  and  in 
comprehensible  body  of  divinity.  The  man  was  the 
noblest  creation  of  God,  the  body  of  divinity  was  one 
of  the  most  pestilent  inventions  of  man,  of  a  priest 
hood — you  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  it — whom  history 
shows  to  have  been  as  false,  self-seeking,  and 
corrupt,  as  any  body  of  men  that  ever  afflicted  the 
earth." 

As  she  listened  to  this  onslaught  upon  what  to  her 
was  dearer  than  life,  the  eyes  of  Sister  Theresa  gleamed 
with  delight — the  sort  of  delight  which  the  soldier 
feels  when  he  meets  "  a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel." 
As  the  young  man  paused,  she  quickly  said,  "  Go  on. 
I  am  attending  closely  to  what  you  say.  I  will  not 
speak  a  word  till  you  are  through.  But  yes — I  will 
ask  you  one  or  two  questions.  What  do  you  think 
of  the  miracles  of  Jesus  ?  " 

"  That,  admitting  the  Gospels  to  be  genuine,  we 
have  for  them  only  the  word  of  ignorant  men,  totally 
incompetent  to  judge  of  evidence,  and  whose  testi 
mony,  on  such  a  subject,  would  not  now-a-days,  be 
accepted  by  any  body  of  men,  even  by  those  unac 
quainted  with  science.  The  so-called  miracles  were 
performed  among  an  ignorant  and  credulous  people, 
believers  in  diabolic  and  angelic  agencies,  and  were 


SISTER    THERESA.  14! 

never  subjected  to  any  intelligent  investigation. 
Moreover,  they  are  in  flat  contradiction  to  all  that  we 
now  know  of  the  laws  of  nature." 

"One  more  question,"  she  said,  "and  1  am  done. 
How  do  you  account  for  the  existence  of  the  Gospels 
in  their  present  form  ?  " 

"  Their  germ  was  the  teaching  of  Jesus.  His  words, 
I  take  it,  were  repeated  at  first  orally  by  the  original 
disciples,  and  as  exactly  as  they  could  recall  them  ; 
subsequently,  when  their  proselytes  became  too  nu 
merous  to  be  reached  by  their  personal  te'aching, 
they  were  reduced  to  writing.  In  this  way  I  should 
account  for  the  remarkable  agreement  in  the  maxims 
and  parables  of  Christ  as  they  are  given  by  the  first 
three  Gospels.  As  Christianity  spread,  the  distant 
converts  naturally  desired  to  know  something  of  the 
life  of  their  Master.  To  meet  this  desire,  the  first 
disciples,  and  those  immediately  succeeding  them, 
wrote  out  narratives  of  his  career — told  what  they  had 
seen  and  heard  of  him — stating,  no  doubt,  many  facts, 
but  infusing  into  them  all  the  supernatural  element, 
which  they  had  come  to  believe  in  from  the  fact 
that  they,  or  others,  supposed  they  had  seen  Jesus 
risen  from  the  dead.  For  fifteen  hundred  years  the 
clergy  have  preached  the  Resurrection  as  the  central 
fact  of  Christianity,  and  in  that  I  think  they  have 
been  right,  for  belief  in  it  as  a  supposed  miracle,  was, 
no  doubt,  that  which  created  all  the  other  miracles  ; 
and  faith  in  its  miracles  was  what  gave  Christianity  its 
prevalence  in  that  superstitious  and  unscientific  age. 
But,  if  your  eyes  and  those  of  the  Compradore  are  to 


142  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

be  trusted,  the  Resurrection  is  simply  a  natural  event, 
common  to  all  men,  and  occurring  whenever  a  man 
lays  off  his  earthly  body.  I  sincerely  hope  this  may 
be  true,  for  if  it  is,  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  some  day 
meet  and  possess  my  own.  But,  to  go  back  to  the 
Gospels.  In  the  way  that  I  have  mentioned  I  con 
ceive  them  to  have  grown — belief  in  a  supernatural 
man  being  the  germ,  and  one  miracle  being  added  to 
another,  by  honest  but  ignorant  disciples,  during  the 
progress  of  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  till, 
towards  the  close  of  the  second  century,  the  Gospels 
were  too  widely  diffused  to  admit  of  any  further 
accretions,  and  had  become,  as  it  were,  stereotyped  in 
the  form  in  which  we  have  them  now.  These  are 
some  of  my  reasons  for  thinking  that  the  Gospels  are 
not  a  true  account  of  the  life  of  Jesus." 

"  The  view  you  present  is  very  plausible,"  said  the 
Sister,  "  but  before  I  attempt  to  fully  refute  it,  allow 
me  to  point  out  a  few  errors  into  which  you  have 
fallen.  I  shall  not  defend  the  priesthood,  but  merely 
remark  that  they  are  now,  and  always  have  been, 
merely  men,  some  of  them  saints,  some  sinners.  Nor, 
shall  I  say  more  than  a  word  about  the  Church,  which 
has  formed  the  body  of  divinity,  that  you  regard  as 
unnatural  and  incomprehensible.  The  church  con 
sists  of  two  bodies,  one  visible,  the  other  invisible. 
The  visible  church  is  a  human  organization,  and  it  is 
necessary  to  the  preservation  and  promulgation  of 
Christian  truth  ;  but  it  contains  both  good  and  bad, 
being  the  field  our  Lord  speaks  of  that  brought  forth 
both  wheat  and  cockle,  and  of  which  he  says,  '  Suffer 


SISTER    THERESA.  143 

both  to  grow  together  till  the  harvest.'  The  invisible 
church  is  the  true  Church  of  Christ.  It  is  composed 
only  of  His  true  followers,  and  it  includes  them  all, 
of  whatever  sect,  or  race,  or  nation.  By  them  only 
should  Christianity  be  judged,  and  the  lamentable 
truth  is,  that  as  they  have  always  been  the  minority, 
they  have  never  been  the  controlling  element  in  the 
visible  church. 

"  I  will  notice,"  she  continued,  "  one  or  two  errors 
of  yours  which  I  deem  of  more  importance.  You  say 
that  the  disciples  were  ignorant  men,  incompetent  to 
give  testimony  to  a  miracle.  Did  it  require  much 
knowledge,  or  intelligence,  to  decide  that  one  who 
had  been  blind,  had  received  his  sight ;  that  one  they 
knew  to  be  dead,  was  alive  again  ;  and  that  they  saw 
Jesus  walking  on  the  sea,  when,  a  moment  later,  he 
entered  their  boat,  and  went  with  them  to  the  shore  ? 
You  also  say  that  the  miracles  were  never  subjected 
to  any  intelligent  investigation.  You  forget  that  the 
case  of  the  man  born  blind  was  fully  investigated  by 
the  Sanhedrin,  the  supreme  national  tribunal  of  the 
Jews,  composed  of  seventy-one  of  the  most  intelligent 
men  in  the  nation ;  and  that  they  utterly  failed  to 
overthrow  the  man's  simple  statement,  '  I  know,  that 
whereas  I  was  blind,  now  I  see.'  Also,  you  forget 
that  this  same  Sanhedrin  was  so  thoroughly  convinced 
of  the  raising  of  Lazarus,  that,  on  account  of  it,  they 
sought  to  put  Jesus  to  death,  and  Lazarus  also,  lest 
the  fact,  getting  abroad  among  the  people,  should  lead 
to  a  general  belief  that  Jesus  was  the  expected  Christ, 
and  thus  incite  an  insurrection  against  the  Romans, 


144  THE   LAST   OF  THE  THORNDIKES. 

which  would  result,  as  Caiaphas  said,  in  their  coming 
to  '  take  away  both  our  place  (office)  and  nation.' 
They  did  not  question  the  reality  of  what  Jesus  did ; 
they  expressly  said,  '  This  man  doth  many  miracles.' 
They  probably,  like  many  of  the  Pharisees,  attributed 
them  to  the  power  of  Satan  ;  but  they  opposed  Jesus 
because  the  influence  which  his  miracles  was  having 
upon  the  people,  endangered,  they  thought,  their  hold 
on  official  power.  To  your  assertion  that  the  miracles 
attributed  to  Jesus  are  in  flat  contradiction  to  all  that 
we  now  know  of  the  laws  of  nature,  I  will  at  present 
merely  oppose  the  declaration  of  Jesus  that  they  were 
in  entire  harmony  with  those  laws,  and  that  it  was 
impossible,  even  for  Him,  to  do  anything  in  opposi 
tion  to  what  we  call  the  order  of  nature.  He  said 
with  decided  emphasis :  '  The  Son  cannot  do  anything 
of  himself,  but  what  he  seeth  the  Father  doing;  for 
what  things  soever  he  doth,  these  the  Son  also  doth 
in  like  manner.'  Your  theory  in  regard  to  the  man 
ner  in  which  the  written  Gospels  were  first  formed 
may  be  true,  and  may  not  be.  I  think,  however,  that 
the  many  quotations  from  them  in  the  writings  of 
the  early  Fathers,  are  good  evidence  of  their  ex 
istence  in  their  present  form  before  the  close  of  the 
First  Century.  After  that  time,  and  perhaps  before, 
they  were  so  widely  diffused  among  the  many  churches 
throughout  the  Roman  Empire,  that  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  alter,  or  add  to  them.  But  a  bet 
ter  answer  to  this  '  mythical  theory,'  is  the  Gospels 
themselves,  their  consistence,  coherence,  harmony, 
and  completeness,  from  which  nothing  can  be  taken 


SISTER    THERESA.  145 

away,  and  to  which  nothing  can  be  added,  without 
destroying  the  wonderful  symmetry  and  beauty  of  the 
whole.  It  is  this  view  of  the  Gospels,  and  of  the 
Christ  whom  they  disclose,  which  has  convinced  me  of 
their  entire  and  absolute  truth ;  and  I  think  it  will 
have  the  same  effect  upon  you,  for  you  have  an  open, 
and  truth-loving  nature.  And  let  me  add,  that  I  am 
surprised  at  the  patient  thought,  and  wide  reading 
which  your  remarks  display.  Let  the  truth  once  be 
seen,  and  a  mind  like  yours  will  embrace  it,  and 
when  you  once  embrace  it,  what  a  power  for  good 
you  will  become !  The  thought  of  it  rejoices  my 
heart." 

"  And  to  think  of  it,  Sister  Theresa  !  "  exclaimed 
Isabel.  "  Richard  has  been  brought  up  in  a. counting- 
house,  and  is  not  yet  twenty-one." 

"  No,  and  will  not  be  till  the  day  after  to-morrow  !  " 
said  Mr.  Lamson,  laughing.  "  But,  Bella  dear,  let  us 
hear  how  the  Sister  will  refute  Richard's  theory." 

"  I  cannot  fully  refute  it  in  a  moment,"  remarked 
Sister  Theresa.  "The  subject  is  too  large  to  be  briefly 
handled,  and  I  fear  that,  in  the  young  man's  weak 
condition,  it  may  tire  him  too  much.  Had  it  not 
better  be  postponed  to  another  occasion?  " 

"No,  Madam;  go  on,  if  you  please,"  said  Richard. 
"  You  will  not  fatigue  me — I  feel  stronger  than  when 
you  began."  • 

"  That  being  so,"  said  Mr.  Lamson,  "  I  would  like 
to  hear  your  reasons  for  the  faith  that  is  in  you,  Sister 
Theresa.  So,  please  go  on." 

"  I   shall  need  an   English  Bible,  Isabel.     Will  you 


146  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

please  get  me  one.     I  carry  with  me  only  the  Douay 
version,"  said  the  Sister. 

Isabel  went  from  the  room,  and  soon  returned  with 
a  small  Bible,  handing  which  to  the  Sister,  she  resumed 
her  seat  by  the  side  of  Richard,  taking,  as  she  did  so, 
his  hand  again  in  hers,  and  unconsciously  fondling  it, 
while  her  mind  was  absorbed  in  what  the  Sister  was 
saying.  This  little  action  probably  escaped  the  obser 
vation  of  all  in  the  room  except  Sister  Theresa,  and 
her  glance  seemed  to  betray  that  she  regarded  it  with 
a  blended  feeling  of  fear  and  approbation. 


CHAPTER  X. 
THERESA'S  REASON  FOR  HER  FAITH. 

"  YOUR  acquaintance  with  general  literature,"  said 
Sister  Theresa  to  the  young  man,  "will,  no  doubt, 
enable  you  to  tell  me  why  it  is  that  Shakespeare,  by 
universal  consent,  is  accounted  the  most  transcendent 
genius  the  world  has  known." 

"It  is  because  of  his  marvellous  power  of  creation, 
coupled  with  his  wonderful  insight,  and  immense 
range  of  vision.  He  had  other  remarkable  qualities, 
but  these  he  possessed  in  a  supereminent  degree.  He 
created  men  and  women,  endowed  them  with  every 
mental  and  moral  quality,  placed  them  in  every  pos 
sible  condition  of  life,  and  made  them  act  upon  one 
another  in  every  conceivable  way,  and  yet,  always  so 
naturally  and  consistently  that  they  all  appear  to  us 
as  living  persons,  whom  we  recognize  as  distinctly  as 
we  do  those  we  meet  every  day.  By  his  remarkable 
insight  he  entered  into  his  characters — became  them 
for  the  time  being — and  by  his  broad  vision  he 
'  glanced  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven,' 
and  took  in  the  whole  range  of  created  things." 

"Then,"  she  remarked,  "the  creation  of  a  natural 
character  is  the  highest  effort  of  genius  ?  " 


148  THE  LAST  OF  THE  THORNDIKES. 

"  I  think  it  has  always  been  so  considered,"  he 
answered. 

"But,  even  Shakespeare  never  created  a  perfect 
man?" 

"  No,  Shakespeare  painted  from  life,  and  no  perfect 
character  ever  existed. " 

"And  he  never  undertook  to  portray  a  character 
both  human  and  divine — a  divine  being  acting  in 
human  life,  and  subject  to  all  the  wants,  woes,  and 
limitations  of  humanity ;  absolutely  human,  and 
yet  essentially  divine ;  from  whom  in  his  hours  of 
extremest  trial,  when  he  was  borne  down  to  the  utter 
most  by  our  human  woe,  there  should  stream  forth 
some  of  the  splendor  of  divinity?" 

"  No,  for  it  is  beyond  human  power.  We  cannot 
conceive  of  that  which  is  altogether  above  and 
beyond  ourselves.  For  this  reason  our  conceptions  of 
God  are  vague,  shadowy,  and  unsubstantial,  though 
we  know  that  He  exists  because  He  has  impressed 
His  mental  and  moral  attributes  upon  the  creation. 
It  is  because  we  cannot  conceive  of  what  is  above  and 
beyond  ourselves,  that  all  unenlightened  peoples  have 
invested  the  Deity  with  human  qualities." 

"  Exactly,"  she  answered.  "  But  did  it  never  occur 
to  you  that  the  writers  of  the  four  Gospels  undertook 
to  do  that  impossible  thing— to  show  a  divine  being 
acting  as  a  man  in  human  life?" 

"No;  for  I  have  not  regarded  Jesus  as  a  divine 
being." 

"But,"  she  answered,  opening  the  little  Bible  she 
held  in  her  hand,  "  on  the  very  threshold  of  their 


THERESA  S   REASON   FOR   HER   FAITH.  149 

narratives,  the  Gospel  writers  distinctly  assert  that  He 
was.  The  first  three  style  him  the  Christ,  and  the 
Son  of  God,  the  fourth  is  even  more  explicit,  saying 
that  He  was  God,  though  to  mark  a  distinction 
between  Him  and  the  Infinite,  All-pervading  Spirit, 
it  adds  that  he  was  '  with  God.' ' 

"  Even  if  those  men  wrote  those  words,"  replied 
Richard,  "  they  did  not  mean  to  them  what  they  do 
to  us.  They  had  very  limited  conceptions  of  the 
greatness  of  the  Creator,  and  the  vastness  of  the 
material  universe.  However,  I  conceive  all  that  por 
tion  of  the  Gospels  to  have  been  subsequently  incor 
porated  by  the  priesthood,  to  give  the  new  religion 
authority  with  the  people." 

"  The  men  of  the  time  when,  you  say,  the  Gospels 
were  written,  understood  the  magnitude  of  the  solar 
system  nearly  as  well  as  we  do,  and  the  Gospel  histo 
rians  distinctly  say  that  Christ  created  and  governs  all 
things.  But  I  am  not  now  asking  you  to  believe  that 
the  immediate  disciples  of  Jesus  wrote  the  Gospels. 
To  the  inquiry  I  am  making  it  is  altogether  immate 
rial  when,  or  where,  or  by  whom,  they  were  written. 
I  only  ask  you  to  admit  that  the  books  now  exist,  and 
that  they  make  this  claim  for  Jesus — that  He  was  the 
Christ — a  messenger  from  God — and  that  He  sustains 
the  same  relation  to  the  Infinite  Spirit,  which  a  son 
does  to  a  human  father." 

"  It  cannot,  of  course,  be  denied,"  he  answered, 
"  that  the  present  Gospels  make  that  claim." 

"If  they  do,"  she  went  on,  "then  they  undertake 
to  delineate  a  Divine  Being  acting  as  a  man  among  men, 


150  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

to  do  which  naturally  and  consistently  you  admit  to  be 
a  thing  impossible — unless  a  living  original  was  before 
them.  I  do  not  now  say  that  He  was  a  Divine  Being. 
I  merely  say  that  they  assert  that  He  was,  and  I  ask 
you  to  look  at  the  picture  they  have  drawn  of  Him. 
Of  course,  you  know  that  they  nowhere  draw  his  full- 
length  portrait.  They  simply  exhibit  Him — allow 
him  to  speak  and  act  for  himself.  But  from  his  say 
ings  and  doings,  and  from  scattered  and  incidental 
allusions  in  the  narratives,  we  can  construct  a  picture  of 
Him  more  vivid  and  life-like,  I  think,  than  can  be 
formed  of  any  other  character  in  history.  And  now 
from  these  Gospels  that  I  hold  in  my  hand,  I  will 
inquire  what  they  say  of  Jesus.  I  will  ask  them, 
'  What  manner  of  man  do  you  affirm  that  he  was  ? 
What  did  He  do  ?  What  did  He  teach?  What  was 
his  mental  and  moral  stature,  arid  what  his  life  object 
— the  work  He  set  before  himself  to  do  in  the 
world  ? '  ' 

"  In  other  words,"  he  remarked,  "  you  propose  to 
analyze  the  character  of  Christ,  as  we  now  find  it 
depicted  in  the  Gospels?  " 

"  Exactly,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  merely  ask  you 
to  admit  that  it  is  there ;  and  I  shall  be  much  mis 
taken  if,  when  these  narratives  are  subjected  to  a  close 
and  patient  analysis,  you  do  not  find  a  new  light 
break  from  them,  and  in  that  light  see  a  Being  pecu 
liar,  grand,  amazing — the  only  altogether  original  and 
perfect  character  that  is  told  of  in  history.  And 
what  will  strike  you,  I  think,  as  quite  as  remarkable— 
you  will  find  this  character  set  in  a  background  of 


THERESA  S   REASON   FOR   HER   FAITH.  151 

events,  strange,  and  wonderful,  and  unlike  any  ever 
recorded,  but  into  which  this  man  fits  like  cause  to 
effect,  so  that  we  cannot  conceive  of  the  man  without 
the  events,  nor  of  the  events  without  the  man.  In 
this  new  light  you  will  see  the  entire  and  absolute 
truth  of  the  Gospel  narratives — that  a  Divine  Being 
has  actually  come  to  the  Earth  ;  but  not  in  a  blaze  of 
glory  that  should  astound  the  universe.  That  might 
excite  the  wonder,  but  it  could  not  compel  the  love  of 
mankind.  So,  He  came  as  a  man,  lived  and  died  as  a 
man,  and  in  a  manner  that  must — inevitably  must — 
'  draw  all  men  unto  Him,'  when  they  shall  have  pon 
dered  his  life,  and  beheld  the  amazing  grandeur,  and 
beauty  of  his  character. 

"  If  a  Divine  Being  were  to  become  a  man,  we 
should  naturally  expect  that  he  would  differ  from  all 
other  men,  for  however  fully  he  might  assume  our 
nature,  there  would  still  be  in  him  a  divine  principle, 
which  would  lift  him  above  humanity.  And  so  we 
find  that  the  Christ  of  the  Gospels  differs  from  all 
other  great  and  good  men  of  whom  there  is  any 
record  in  history.  This  unlikeness  runs  through  his 
entire  mental  and  moral  nature  ;  and  it  extends  to 
even  such  unimportant  traits  as  speech,  manner, 
and  outward  aspect.  These  unimportant  traits  are 
alluded  to  by  all  his  biographers,  and  they  have 
struck  me  forcibly  as  indicating  clearly  that  each  one 
of  them  drew  from  a  living  original.  I  will  mention 
some  of  them,  not  to  prove  that  He  was  divine,  but 
to  exhibit  His  human  side,  and  show  his  striking 
originality,  and  individuality. 


I$2  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  From  his  presentation  in  the  temple  we  learn 
that  his  body  was  perfect  in  form,  and  without  natu 
ral  blemish  ;  but  we  elsewhere  observe  that  it  was  far 
too  feeble  for  the  mighty  spirit  it  contained.  This  we 
see  from  his  sitting  weary  by  the  well,  while  his  disci 
ples  could  go  and  return  for  food  ;  by  his  sleeping 
undisturbed  through  a  perilous  storm  ;  by  his  sinking 
exhausted  under  the  weight  of  his  cross ;  and  his  sur 
viving  the  agonies  of  crucifixion  only  six  hours, 
while  other  men  could  endure  the  torture  for  several 
days.  He  was  also  of  extreme  physical  sensibility. 
In  his  agony  he  sweat,  as  it  were,  great  drops  of 
blood  ;  he  was  affected  to  tears  at  the  sight  of  a  sor 
rowing  woman  when  he  knew  that  he  was  about  to  re 
lieve  her  grief ;  and  in  the  midst  of  triumph,  he  wept 
aloud  when  there  came  to  him  a  vision  of  the  woe  that 
was  coming  upon  Jerusalem. 

"  A  peculiar  look  of  his  is  frequently  noticed.  I 
suppose  it  was  a  fixed,  intent  gaze,  by  which  he 
looked  into  the  very  hearts  of  men,  and  read  their 
whole  lives,  as  he  did  the  past  of  the  woman  at  the 
well,  and  of  the  man  who  had  been  impotent  thirty 
and  eight  years.  This  look  sometimes  went  before 
his  words,  as  when  he  said  to  his  disciples,  '  How 
hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the 
Kingdom  of  God ; '  sometimes  it  emphasized  his 
speech,  as  when  he  silenced  the  Pharisees  in  the  syna 
gogue  ;  and  sometimes  it  spoke  without  words,  as 
when  he  turned  and  looked  upon  Peter,  and  the  con 
science-smitten  apostle  went  out  and  wept  bitterly. 
At  times  too,  a  strange  splendor  seems  to  have  envel- 


THERESA'S  REASON  FOR  HER  FAITH.         153 

oped  him,  irradiating  his  whole  person,  and  making 
his  face  to  shine  with  an  unearthly  glory.  This  was 
seen  not  only  when  he  is  said  to  have  been  trans 
figured,  but  when  he  came  down  from  the  Mount, 
and  all  the  people,  greatly  amazed,  ran  to  meet  him ; 
and  also  on  the  way  to  Jerusalem,  when  his  disciples 
fell  behind  him  in  fear — terrified  at  the  forecasted 
shadow  of  the  great  struggle  which  he  had  predicted, 
but  they  did  not  understand. 

"  His  ordinary  speech  was  striking,  and  peculiar. 
He  spoke  generally  in  short,  condensed,  aphoristic 
sentences,  and  he  was  so  much  addicted  to  certain 
phrases  that  their  frequent  use  strikes  us  as  manner 
ism.  He  seldom  announced  an  important  truth  but 
he  prefaced  it  with,  '  Verily,  I  say  unto  you,'  and  he 
often  closes  some  striking  utterance  with,  '  He  that 
hath  ears  to  hear,  let  him  hear.'  Other  like  phrases  I 
need  not  enumerate.  The  ordinary  clothing  of  his 
thoughts  was  peculiar  and  original.  Like  all  Orien 
tals  he  was  fond  of  figure  and  hyperbole ;  but,  more 
than  any  of  his  race  or  time,  he  delighted  in  paradox 
and  parable.-  More  than  any  poet  of  any  time  he 
thought  in  figures  ;  but  thoughts  that  span  the 
reaches  of  our  souls,  he  clad  in  such  familiar  guise 
that  they  are  adapted  to  the  humblest  intellect.  He 
seems  to  have  dwelt  in  the  very  heart  of  things,  and 
to  have  discerned  the  hidden  relations  between  the 
natural  and  the  spiritual ;  and,  as  the  Infinite  Spirit 
clothes  His  ideas  in  material  forms,  so  he  clothed  his 
thoughts  in  outward  nature,  and  human  life,  making 
them  to  move  like  living  things  before  us. 


154  THE   LAST  OF   THE  THORNDIKES. 

"  The  Gospels  say  that  he  had  next  to  no  human 
learning,  and  yet,  his  parables  and  discourses,  as  mere 
literary  productions,  excel  anything  that  has  appeared 
in  any  language.  I  do  not  now  speak  of  the  truths 
they  embody,  but  of  the  form  they  wear ;  and  where 
shall  we  find  anything  to  compare — each  in  its  way — 
with  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount ;  the  Lord's  Prayer ; 
his  principal  parables  ;  his  last  discourse  and  prayer 
with  his  disciples,  and  with  that  masterpiece  of  with 
ering  invective,  his  last  denunciation  of  the  Pharisees 
in  the  Temple,  which,  beginning  in  low  breathings  of 
reproof,  rises  into  a  storm  of  indignant  justice,  and  dies 
away  in  a  wail  of  outraged  love,  that  is  tearful  in  its 
pathetic  sadness.  But  terrible  as  the  words  are,  do 
we  not  hear  in  their  undertone  the  same  voice  which 
said,  '  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest  ?  ' 

"  And  we  see  that  his  manner  of  delivering  these 
discourses  was  so  peculiar  and  imperial  that  his 
hearers  were  forced  to  say,  '  He  teaches  as  one  having 
authority,'  and,  '  Never  man  spake  like  this  man.' 
His  imperial  bearing  impressed  all  with  whom  he 
came  in  contact.  Though  familiar  and  accessible  with 
all,  his  most  intimate  acquaintance  felt  for  him  an  awe 
which  is  seen  in  all  their  intercourse,  and  which  often 
made  them  afraid  to  ask  him  the  simplest  question. 
No  doubt  it  was  the  mere  majesty  of  his  manner  that 
bore  him  unharmed  from  among  his  murderous 
townsmen,  and  smote  with  such  terror  the  band  of 
armed  men  sent  to  arrest  him,  that  they  '  went  back 
ward  and  fell  to  the  ground.' 


THERESA'S  REASON  FOR  HER  FAITH.         155 

"  What  I  have  noted  is  enough  to  show  that  Jesus 
was  an  altogether  unique  and  original  character,  and 
yet,  all  that  I  have  said  of  him — though  it  makes  clear 
the  fact  that  his  biographers  described  a  living  original 
— might  be  true  of  some  transcendent  human  genius, 
who  should  be  as  great  in  the  moral  sphere,  as  Shake 
speare  was  in  the  natural.  I  have  noted  merely  the 
outward  guise  that  he  wore :  to  find  the  real  Christ, 
the  Divine  Man,  we  must  look  deeper,  and  looking 
thus,  we  see  that  the  Gospels  represent  him  as 
endowed  with  powers  never  before  or  since  possessed 
by  man.  They  depict  him  as  living  at  one  and  the 
same  time  in  two  worlds — the  natural  and  the  spiritual 
— and  as  exercising  absolute  control  in  both — over 
man  and  nature  on  the  earth,  and  over  disorderly 
spirits  in  the  under-world.  They  show  that  to  him 
all  things  lay  open — nature,  the  human  mind,  and  the 
spiritual  universe  which  lies  about  us,  acting  on  us, 
and  we  on  it,  for  good  or  for  evil.  They  state  that  he 
read  the  past  lives  of  men,  and  saw  the  future  before 
it  came  to  pass — his  vision  of  coming  events  not  being 
dim,  shadowy,  and  symbolic,  like  that  of  the  prophets  ; 
but  clear,  distinct,  and  objective,  as  is  the  life  of  the 
real  world  about  us.  And  they  attribute  to  him  an 
amazing  power  of  will,  by  which,  on  his  mere  volition, 
he  changed  water  into  wine,  augmented  human  food, 
walked  upon  the  sea,  stilled  the  storm,  cured,  even 
at  a  distance,  the  most  deadly  maladies,  and  raised  the 
dead  to  life ;  and  they  represent  him  as  doing  all 
these  things  with  as  much  apparent  ease  as  he  per 
formed  the  most  ordinary  action.  He  simply  said, 


156  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

'  Peace,  be  still,'  '  I  will,  be  thou  clean,'  '  Lazarus, 
come  forth,'  and,  'Young  man,  I  say  unto  thee,  arise.' 
And  what  is  most  singular,  in  making  Jesus  say, 
'  Whatsoever  things  the  Father  doeth,  those  also  the 
Son  doeth  in  like  manner]  these  Gospels  expressly 
state  that  these  wonderful  acts  were  not  infractions  of 
natural  law,  but  were  done  in  entire  accord  with  the 
orderly  procedure  of  nature.  And  thus  we  see  water 
turned  into  wine  in  the  grape ;  the  loaves  multiplied 
wherever  a  seed  is  thrown  into  the  ground  ;  and  that 
an  all-healing  principle  exists  in  nature,  by  which  a 
new  bark  grows  upon  the  wounded  tree,  and  new 
flesh  forms  upon  the  mangled  limb.  Christ  merely 
accelerated  and  intensified  the  ordinary  processes  of 
nature;  and  he  never  did  what  nature  does  not  do 
— supply  an  amputated  limb,  or  restore  that  which  has 
been  absolutely  destroyed.  Even  in  restoring  life  to 
the  dead,  he  but  imparted  to  them  of  the  abound 
ing  life  which  was  in  himself,  giving,  as  the  Gospels 
state,  life  to  whom  he  would,  and  thus  verifying  the 
words,  they  attribute  to  him.  '  As  the  Father  hath 
life  in  himself,  so  hath  he  given  to  the  Son  to  have 
life  in  himself.'  Therefore,  the  miracle  was  not  in  the 
act,  but  in  the  actor — Jesus  himself  was  the  mira 
cle. 

"And  it  is  wonderful,  so  wonderful  that  when  I 
noted  it,  it  swept  away  all  my  doubts  of  the  truth  of 
the  Gospels — that  in  an  age  ignorant  of  natural  chem 
istry,  and  natural  law,  these  writers — whoever  they 
were — should  not  only  describe  these  miracles  so 
entirely  in  harmony  with  the  universal  order  of  things, 


THERESA'S  REASON  FOR  HER  FAITH.         157 

but  that  one  of  the  number  should  account  for  them 
by  stating  that  Jesus  was  a  fountain  of  life,  quicken 
ing  whom  he  would.  From  what  old  sage,  or  musty 
parchment  of  the  first  or  second  century,  did  these 
writers  derive  this  sublime  conception — unfailing  life, 
and  almighty  power,  residing  in  the  person  of  a  lowly 
artisan  of  Galilee  ? 

"  But  quite  as  original,  if  not  so  marvellous,  as  his 
miracles,  is  the  view  Jesus  takes  of  human  life,  and 
human  blessedness.  He  looks  upon  our  life,  not  as 
bounded  by  a  narrow  horizon  of  threescore  years  and 
ten,  but  as  having  a  limitless  duration  ;  and  he  places 
our  highest  happiness,  not  in  wealth,  or  fame,  or 
power,  or  the  gratification  of  disorderly  appetite — as 
most  men  did  then,  and  do  now — but  he  says  it  is  to 
be  found  in  lowliness  of  mind,  in  gentleness,  in  com 
passion,  and  in  that  purity  of  heart  which  brings  the 
soul  within  the  divine  order,  and,  more  than  science 
or  philosophy,  gives  to  man  the  vision  of  God.  With 
out  any  knowledge  of  human  ethics,  he  announced 
moral  truths  which  we  now  see  must  of  necessity  lie 
at  the  very  foundation  of  the  moral  universe  ;  and  he 
so  stated  when  he  said,  '  Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass 
away,  but  my  words  shall  not  pass  away.' 

"  These  things  are  so  familiar  to  us  that  we  fail  to 
realize  how  absolutely  original  they  were  when  they 
were  spoken.  In  an  age  of  violence,  when  private 
revenge  was  regarded  as  a  commendable  virtue,  he 
said,  'Resist  not  evil,'  and  'Love  your  enemies.' 
In  a  time  of  universal  selfishness  and  cruelty,  when 
the  rich  were  very  rich,  and  the  poor,  very  poor,  he 


158  THE   LAST  OF  THE  THORNDIKES. 

said,  '  Give  to  him  that  asketh  of  you,  and  from  him 
that  would  borrow  of  you  turn  not  away,'  and  he 
said  also,  that  the  question  he  should  put  to  us  at  the 
last,  would  not  be,  '  Have  ye  preached  in  my  name, 
and  in  my  name  cast  out  devils  ?  '  but  '  Have  ye  fed 
the  hungry,  and  clothed  the  naked,  and  ministered 
to  the  prisoner?" 

"  The  poor  of  Christ's  time  were  simply  outcasts, 
without  civil  rights,  and  condemned  to  minister  to  the 
luxury  of  the  rich  in  peace,  and  to  feed  their  ambi 
tion  in  war.  Their  homes  were  mud-hovels,  swept 
away  by  every  storm,  and,  according  to  Tacitus,  a  flag 
basket,  and  a  bed  of  straw,  comprised  their  entire 
household  furniture ;  but  to  this  class  Jesus  specially 
addressed  himself ;  and  he  adduced  the  fact  that  he 
did  so,  as  the  crowning  proof  that  he  was  a  messenger 
from  God.  On  this  class,  and  the  one  immediately 
above  it,  he  built  his  Kingdom.  In  this  was  he  not 
altogether  original,  and  not  only  in  advance  of  his 
time,  but  even  of  our  time,  when  it  is  just  beginning 
to  be  understood,  that  the  welfare  of  society  depends 
upon  the  well-being  of  the  poor  ;  that  all  social  prog 
ress  begins  in  the  lower  walks  of  life ;  and  that  no 
State,  however  strong,  can  be  permanently  secure, 
whose  foundations  do  not  rest  upon  an  enlightened 
and  law-abiding  working-class. 

"  I  have  not  time  to  further  allude  to  the  moral 
teachings  of  Christ,  nor  need  I  do  so,  for  they  have 
been  familiar  to  you  from  your  boyhood.  Nor  can  I 
any  more  than  allude  to  other  features  of  his  life  and 
character,  which  stamp  him  as  altogether  original,  and 


THERESA'S  REASON  FOR  HER  FAITH.         159 

which  need  to  be  considered  in  any  full  view  of  the 
Gospel  narratives — how  he  was  singularly  '  meek  and 
lowly  of  heart ;  '  how  he  went  about  continually  do 
ing  good,  mingling  with  the  lower  ranks  of  men, 
sharing  their  joys  and  sorrows,  and  always  and 
everywhere,  showing  a  perfect  humanity.  How,  alto 
gether  alone,  one  man  among,  perhaps,  eight  or  ten 
millions,  he  fronted  universal  opposition,  and  the 
whole  power  of  the  Jewish  rulers.  How  he  lived  in 
constant  communion  with  his  Father,  looking  ever  up 
to  Him  with  unabashed  eye,  unconscious  of  wrong, 
never  feeling  the  need  of  forgiveness,  and  serenely 
saying  to  the  Jews,  '  Who  of  you  convinces  me  of 
sin  ? '  How  he  exemplified  the  perfect  morality  that 
he  taught,  observing  spontaneously,  even  in  his  ex- 
tremest  agony,  its  hardest  precept,  by  praying'  for  his 
enemies,  and  saying  to  the  officer  who  smote  him,  only 
this,  '  If  I  have  spoken  evil,  bear  witness  of  the  evil ; 
but  if  well,  why  smitest  thou  me  ? '  and  how  with 
sublime  elevation  of  soul  he  met  unmoved,  alike  the 
wild  enthusiasm  that  would  have  made  him  King,  and 
the  insane  fury  that  fiercely  cried,  '  Crucify  him,  Cru 
cify  him.'  All  these  things  attest  in  him  a  union  of 
the  divine  and  the  human,  and  a  rounded  complete 
ness  of  nature,  by  which  he  touched  man  in  his  lowest 
estate,  and  God  in  his  supernal  glory. 

"  All  through  his  public  life,  at  every  step  of  his 
career,  we  see  the  divine  breaking  through  the  human ; 
but  at  times  they  appear  together  in  a  contrast  that  is 
amazing.  Look  at  him  at  the  grave  of  Lazarus — see 
him  weeping  one  moment  in  sympathy  with  the  tears 


l6o  THE   LAST   OF   THE  THORNDIKES. 

of  a  sorrowing  woman,  and  uttering  the  next,  those 
majestic  words  that  call  the  dead  back  to  a  life  among 
the  living !  What  a  union  is  there  of  gentleness  and 
strength,  of  human  weakness  and  godlike  power! 
Could  such  incompatible  traits  have  been  invented? 
Could  human  genius  create  a  character  in  whom  are 
so  strangely  blended  all  the  sensibility  of  a  man,  and 
all  the  power  of  a  God  ?  Have  we  not  an  intuitive 
conviction  that  he  is  no  human  invention, — that  this 
man,  so  Godlike  and  yet  so  human,  once  trod  our 
planet,  gentle  and  loving  as  the  mother  who  bore  us, 
and  yet,  grand  and  wonderful  as  '  the  great  mountains 
and  the  starry  spheres  ?  ' 

"  Pure  and  elevated  as  are  the  moral  precepts  of 
Christ,  these  Gospels  show  that  he  placed  true 
religion,  not  in  any  round  of  moral  actions,  and  cere 
monial  observances,  but  in  duty  as  it  is  an  expression 
of  love, — love  to  man,  and  supreme  love  to  God.  He 
made  the  highest  moral  obligation,  not  like  the 
Stoics,  self-command  and  self-reliance,  but  their  oppo- 
sites,  humility  and  faith  ;  and  the  first  of  these  was 
faith — trust  in  another,  and  that  other  Christ  himself. 
And  these  Gospels  have  the  temerity  to  tell  us  that 
this  Jewish  peasant,  lowly  born,  and  without  earthly 
culture  or  power,  is  the  rightful  King  of  men,  and  as 
such  demands  the  absolute  allegiance  of  every  human 
soul.  This  is  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  the  religion  that 
the  Gospels  teach.  It  is  a  stupendous  claim.  What 
modern  historian  would  dare  to  make  it  for  any  man, 
however  great  ?  And  yet,  these  old  historians  claim 
it  for  Christ  with  an  easy  assurance  which  shows  that 


THERESA  S   REASON   FOR   HER   FAITH.  l6l 

they  were  convinced  that  the  moral  sense  of  mankind 
would,  sooner  or  later,  discern  that  it  is  founded  in 
the  immutable  nature  of  things. 

"In  our  admiration  of  the  moral  greatness  of  Jesus, 
we  sometimes  overlook  the  amazing  depth  and  range 
of  his  intellect,  indications  of  which  are  scattered  all 
through  the  Gospel  narratives.  Sixteen  hundred  years 
before  Newton  discovered  that  the  attraction  of 
gravitation  holds  the  material  universe  together, 
Christ  asserted,  through  his  disciple  Paul,  that  by 
its  analogue,  love — which  is  himself — all  things  con 
sist,  and  continue  in  being;  and  nearly  eighteen 
hundred  years  before  Darwin  was  born,  he  an 
nounced  the  true  doctrine  of  evolution  and  human 
development,  when  he  said,  '  I  came  not  to  destroy 
the  law  and  the  prophets,  but  to  fulfil.'  For  his 
system  was  but  a  development  of  the  Patriarchal 
and  Mosaic  systems,  out  of  which  it  was  to  unfold 
by  a  process  of  natural  growth — first  the  folded  bud, 
next,  the  expanding  leaf,  and  then,  the  beautiful 
blossom,  which  blossom  shall  become  perfected  fruit 
as  age  after  age  shall  see  new  light  break  from 
out  the  life  and  words  of  Christ.  He  saw  that  his 
truth,  working  silently  in  the  hearts  of  men,  would 
inevitably  leaven  the  whole  human  race ;  and  his 
mind  took  in  the  progress  of  this  truth  from  the 
little  gathering  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  disciples, 
till  the  predicted  time,  when  '  the  knowledge  of  the 
Lord  shall  cover  the  earth,  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea.' 
And  the  immense  range  of  his  vision  went  even 
farther — even  to  that  great  day  when  the  heavens  shall 


1 62  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

be  rolled  together  as  a  scroll '  and  the  mighty  angel, 
standing  with  one  foot  upon  the  land,  and  one  upon 
the  sea,  shall  proclaim  that  '  Time  shall  be  no  longer.' 

"  And  this  leads  me  to  allude  to  the  life-plan  which 
Jesus  set  before  him,  and  which  we  see  was  fully 
formed,  when,  directly  after  his  baptism,  he  said  to 
Simon,  'Thou  shalt  be  called  Peter,'  and  which  he 
steadily  pursued  throughout  his  career,  without  one 
moment's  hesitation  or  wavering,  until,  in  that  exult 
ing  cry  upon  the  cross,  he  announced,  '  It  is  finished.' 
This  plan  involved  no  less  than  the  moral  re-creation 
of  the  world,  and  the  founding  of  a  Kingdom  which 
should  embrace  the  entire  human  race,  and  have  its 
full  development  only  in  the  eternal  world.  Of  this 
kingdom  Christ  claimed  to  be  king,  but  he  could  enter 
upon  its  possession  only  through  the  grave.  What 
other  man  ever  set  before  him  a  life-object  that  in 
volved  his  own  certain  death  ?  What  other  king  ever 
sought  his  coronation  upon  a  cross  ? 

"  I  have  now  very  imperfectly  sketched  for  you 
some  features  in  the  character  of  Jesus,  as  he  is  por 
trayed  by  the  four  historians  who  wrote  the  Gospels. 
If  we  deny  the  literal  truth  of  these  narratives,  it 
remains  to  account  for  the  view  they  give  of  the  per 
sonality  of  Christ.  Who  created  the  idea  of  this 
Divine  man,  so  original,  grand,  superhuman,  and  so 
perfect  an  embodiment  of  our  highest  conceptions  of 
God  ?  And,  if  some  unknown  genius — as  much  greater 
than  Shakespeare  as  Shakespeare  was  greater  than  the 
untutored  savage — did  create  this  character,  who  in 
vented  the  system  of  which  the  Gospels  make  him  the 


THERESA'S  REASON  FOR  HER  FAITH.         163 

centre  ?  Who  first  conceived  of  a  kingdom  which 
should  embrace  the  entire  world,  outlast  time,  and 
have  its  full  development  only  in  another  life?  Who 
first  thought  of  a  king  who  should  be  crowned  upon  a 
cross,  enter  upon  his  reign  only  through  death,  and 
then  have  committed  to  him  '  all  power  in  heaven  and 
on  earth  ? '  These  questions  have  to  be  answered  be 
fore  we  can  deny  the  literal  truth  of  the  gospel  narra 
tives. 

"  I  have  somewhere  seen  the  work  of  the  gospel 
historians,  compared  to  that  of  some  four  sculptors, 
who  were  imagined  to  undertake  the  production  in  mar 
ble  of  the  form  of  a  most  extraordinary  man.  No  one 
of  the  artists  was  to  execute  the  complete  statue,  but 
each,  working  independently,  was  supposed  to  mould 
a  separate  and  distinct  part.  They  were  supposed  to 
do  this,  and  on  the  four  parts  being  put  together,  it 
was  found  that  the  combined  work  formed  a  complete 
and  harmonious  whole — and  a  whole  grander,  and 
more  beautiful  than  anything  that  ever  came  from  the 
chisel  of  Canova  or  Praxiteles.  This  work,  which  in 
art  would  be  accounted  a  miracle,  is  actually  before  us 
in  the  Gospels  I  hold  in  my  hand.  On  nearly  every 
page  they  give  evidence  that  each  writer  wrought 
separately  and  independently,  and  that  the  first 
three  knew  nothing  of  the  other's  work,  but  when 
their  writings  are  combined,  we  find  the  portrait  of  a 
man  absolutely  original,  and  incomparably  greater 
than  all  other  men,  and  that  a  perfect  harmony  per 
vades  the  whole.  Are  we  not  then  forced  to  the  con 
clusion  that  all  four  writers  described  one  livincr 


164  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

original,  and  that  he  was  the  actual  character  they 
portray  ? 

"  And  can  we  account  for  this  extraordinary  charac 
ter  on  any  other  hypothesis  than  the  one  which  the 
Gospels  afford — that  is,  that  He  was  'the  Christ,  and 
the  Son  of  God?  This  supposition  makes  all  the  nar 
ratives  clear,  consistent  with  themselves,  and  with  each 
other,  and  it  fully  accounts  for  Christ's  miracles,  his 
supernatural  character  and  powers,  and  his  superhu 
man  plan  for  the  regeneration  of  the  world.  On  any 
other  hypothesis,  Jesus  will  be  forever  the  enigma  of 
history. 

"  Before  the  age  of  Copernicus  astronomers  con 
ceived  the  earth  to  be  the  centre  of  the  solar  system, 
and  with  all  their  ingenuity  they  utterly  failed  to 
bring  order  into  the  movements  of  the  planetary 
bodies  ;  but  Copernicus  came  and  hung  the  sun  in  the 
centre,  and  instantly  each  mighty  orb  swung  into 
place,  and  went  on  its  way  among  the  stars  in  an 
order  so  beautiful  that  it  has  ever  since  been  the  won 
der  of  the  world.  So  it  is  with  Christ  and  the 
Gospels.  Account  Jesus  merely  a  man,  and  the  nar 
ratives  are  improbable,  and  the  events  they  relate  are 
contrary  to  the  established  order  of  nature,  and  to  the 
experience  of  history  :  but  give  to  Christ  the  divine 
nature  these  Gospels  ascribe  to  him,  and  they  become 
probable,  conformable  to  all  natural  and  spiritual  law, 
and  they  fall  at  once  into  a  beautiful  harmony,  out  of 
.which  pours  a  celestial  light,  and — if  we  do  but  lis 
ten — a  celestial  music  ;  even  the  song  of  the  angels, 

'  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest  heavens, 
And  on  earth  peace,  good  will  to  men.'  " 


THERESA'S  REASON  FOR  HER  FAITH.         165 

• 

"  You  have  given  me  a  clearer  view  of  Christ  than 
any  I  have  yet  had,"  said  the  young  man  when  the 
Sister  had  concluded,  "  but  before  accepting  it,  I 
should  desire  to  study  the  subject  carefully.  How 
ever,  nothing  you  have  said  sustains  the  dogma 
of  your  Church,  that  Christ  is  the  Supreme  Deity. 
That,  it  seems  to  me,  is  disproved  by  the  very  Gospels 
that  you  refer  to,  for  they  represent  Christ  as  pray 
ing  to  the  Father,  expressing  constant  dependence 
upon  him,  and  as  explicitly  asserting  that  His  life  and 
power  were  derived  from  God.  His  words  are  '  As 
the  Father  hath  life  in  Himself,  so  has  he  given  to  the 
Son  to  have  life  in  himself/  and  '  All  power  is  given 
to  me  in  heaven  and  in  earth.'  The  attributes  of  the 
Deity  are  inherent,  and  not  derived." 

"  I  do  not  dispute  what  you  say,"  she  answered, 
"  and  I  am  not  defending  the  dogmas  of  any  church. 
They  are  merely  the  deductions  which  men  have 
drawn  from  the  words  of  Scripture,  and  you  and  I 
can  interpret  those  words  as  well  as  any  priesthood. 
I  think  that  our  Lord  nowhere  claims  to  be  the 
Infinite  Being  who  is  the  life  of  the  universe." 

"  But  you  say  that  Christ  is  a  divine  Being — in 
what  sense  do  you  understand  that  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Lamson. 

"  I  do  not  understand  it,"  she  answered.  "  Our 
Lord  says  that  we  cannot  understand  it.  '  No  one,' 
he  says,  '  knoweth  who  the  Son  is  but  the  Father,' 
thus  showing  the  futility  of  all  speculations  on  the 
subject.  We  can  know  only  so  much  as  we  are  told. 
We  are  repeatedly  told  that  He  is  the  Son  of  God, 


l66  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

which  I  suppose  means  that  He  derived  his  divine 
being  and  nature  from  His  Divine  Father,  in  some 
such  manner  as  a  human  son  derives  his  human  nature 
from  his  natural  father.  The  relation  of  the  Divine 
Son  to  the  Divine  Father  is  above  my  comprehen 
sion  ;  but  what  seems  to  me  the  clearest  expression 
of  it  is  here,  in  the  first  chapter  of  Hebrews.  The 
passage  is  somewhat  obscured  in  the  King  James 
translation,  therefore,  I  will  render  it  as  I  read  it  in 
the  original. 

" '  God,  who  at  sundry  times  and  in  divers  manners 
spake  of  old  to  our  fathers  by  the  prophets,  hath  in 
these  last  days  spoken  unto  us  by  His  Son,  whom  he 
appointed  heir  of  all  things,  by  whom  also  He  made 
the  worlds  ;  who  being  an  emanation  of  His  glory, 
and  an  express  image  of  His  substance,  and  uphold 
ing  all  things  by  the  word  of  His  power,  when  He 
had  by  Himself  made  purification  for  our  sins,  sat 
down  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on  high ; 
being  made  so  much  greater  than  the  angels,  as  He 
hath  by  inheritance  obtained  a  more  excellent  name 
than  they.' 

"  In  some  such  manner  as  light  emanates  from 
the  sun,  I  suppose  Christ  to  have  emanated  from 
God  ;  and  as  by  analyzing  light  we  get  at  the  constit 
uents  of  the  sun,  so,  by  studying  Christ  we  can  arrive 
at  the  nature  of  God,  for  He  is  His  'express  image.' 
I  advise  you  to  study  Him  for  yourself,  and  in  all  His 
aspects,  not  only  while  He  lived  here  as  a  man,  but 
both  before  and  since  he  came  to  the  earth,  for  He  is 
in  all  profane  as  well  as  sacred  history." 


THERESA'S  REASON  FOR  HER  FAITH.         167 

Soon  after  this  the  two  Sisters  took  their  leave. 
Isabel  accompanied  them  to  the  doorway,  and  as  they 
were  about  to  depart,  Sister  Theresa  put  her  arms 
about  her,  and  drawing  her  closely  to  her,  said, 
"  My  dear,  sweet  Child  ;  somewhere  in  Proverbs  it  is 
said,  '  Keep  thy  heart  with  all  watchfulness,  for  out 
of  it  are  the  issues  of  life.'  He  is  a  true,  noble 
young  man,  and  he  will  yet  be  a  brave  soldier  of  our 
Lord ;  but  his  whole  soul  is  with  the  one  who  is 
dead." 

"Why,  Sister!"  exclaimed  Isabel,  coloring  deeply, 
"he  is  my  brother.  He  has  said  he  would  be — a 
brother  to  me,  and  a  son  to  mother." 

"  And  what  he  has  said,  he  will  be.  Only  for  your 
own  peace,  dream  of  nothing  more,"  and  with  these 
words  the  Sister  went  her  way  into  her  own  lonely 
life — lonely,  and  yet  not  so,  for  the  Master  was  with 
her. 


CHAPTER  XL 

PLATONIC   LOVE. 

WHEN  Isabel  returned  to  the  young  man's  room 
she  found  him  and  her  father  in  conversation  over 
the  interview  with  Sister  Theresa.  "  Besides  this, 
Richard,"  said  Mr.  Lamson  as  she  entered,  "  the  spirit 
ual  life  she  has  led  for  so  many  years  has  given  her  an 
experience  of  many  truths  that  are,  to  most  of  us, 
mere  speculation.  She  rejects  the  worship  of  the 
Virgin,  and  the  mummeries  of  the  Catholic  Church ; 
but  I  think  she  accepts  the  fundamental  doctrines  it 
holds  in  common  with  all  orthodox  churches — though 
she  believes  that  the  creeds  express  merely  the  shell, 
and  not  the  kernel  of  truth." 

"  Her  father  is  a  Protestant,"  said  Isabel,  "  and  she 
has  told  me  that  she  joined  the  Catholic  Church 
because  it  has  a  better  organization  than  the  others 
for  reaching  the  poor  and  ignorant.  She  believes  in  a 
working  religion." 

'She  is  a  saintly  woman,"  replied  Richard.  "I 
shall  certainly  heed  her  so  far  as  to  investigate  the 
subject." 

"I  would  do  so,"  said  Mr.  Lamson.  "I  have 
observed  that  you  can  take  nothing  on  trust— which 


PLATONIC    LOVE.  169 

I  suppose  is  owing  to  the  lawyer-mind  you  have 
inherited.  With  me  it  is  different.  I  never  had  a 
turn  for  abstract  speculations.  I  prefer  plain  facts. 
One  fact  to  me  is  worth  a  million  of  theories,  and  by 
experience  I  have  learned  that  the  greatest  fact  in  life 
is  that  Christ  is  our  Almighty  Friend." 

"  Richard,"  said  Isabel,  "won't  you  let  me  study 
with  you  ?  I  need  to  know  the  truth  as  much  as  you 
do." 

"  I  should  like  nothing  so  well,  Bella,"  he  answered ; 
"we  can  be  a  help  to  one  another." 

The  physician,  who  soon  afterwards  called,  advised 
the  young  man  to  keep  within  doors  during  the  suc 
ceeding  day,  and  accordingly,  it  was  not  till  the  day 
following  that  he  resumed  his  duties  at  the  counting- 
house.  On  that  day  he  became  of  age,  and  was  for 
mally  admitted  a  partner  in  the  great  house  of  Lam- 
son  &  Co.  When  he  reached  home  a  little  after  three 
o'clock  on  that  afternoon,  Isabel  met  him  in  the  hall, 
and  seizing  him  by  both  hands,  she  exclaimed,  "  Let 
me  congratulate  you,  dear  Richard,  on  being  to-day 
both  a  man,  and  a  merchant.  Tell  me,  what  shall  I 
give  you  for  a  birthday  present  ?  " 

"  Give  me  yourself,  my  sweet  one,"  he  said.  "  Put 
your  arms  about  my  neck,  and  call  me  your  dear 
brother." 

"  I'll  do  better  than  that,"  cried  the  impulsive  girl, 
throwing  her  arms  about  him,  and  covering  his  lips 
with  kisses.  In  an  instant  she  shrank  back,  saying, 
"  Oh  !  Richard,  what  have  I  done  ?  You  will  think  me 
unmaidenly." 


I/O  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  Oh!  no,  my  dear,"  he  said,  putting  his  arms  about 
her,  and  pressing  his  lips  again  to  hers.  "  It  expresses 
our  mutual  feeling.  I  think  no  man  ever  had  so  true, 
so  pure,  so  noble  a  sister  as  I  have." 

"Nor  any  woman  so  good,  so  manly,  so  royal  a 
brother  as  I,"  she  said,  drawing  herself  gently  away. 
"  But,  Richard,  we'll  repeat  these  ceremonies  only  on 
our  birthdays." 

"  Just  as  you  say,  dear  Bella,"  he  said,  releasing  her, 
but  adding  with  deep  feeling,  "  I  shall  never  forget 
what  you  have  been  to  me  during  the  past  few 
days." 

"Nor  I  what  you  have  been  to  me,"  she  answered. 
"  I  have  all  my  life  longed  for  a  brother,  and  when  I 
think  that  I  have  found  one,  and  such  a  one  as  you, 
Richard,  it  seems  as  if  I  couldn't  contain  myself  for 
very  joy." 

She  then  led  him  into  the  library  where  he  received 
from  the  mother  very  much  the  same  greeting  that  he 
had  from  the  daughter.  His  voice  was  husky  when 
he  said  to  them,  "  The  kindness  of  both  of  you  to  a 
penniless  boy  overpowers  me.  I  do  not  know  what  to 
say  to  you." 

"  Say  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson,  tears  coming 
into  her  eyes ;  "  but  you  are  not  a  penniless  boy ; 
how  can  you  be,  when  you  are  our  son,  and  a  partner  in 
Lamson  &  Co?" 

The  young  man  had  been  taught  by  Henshaw  & 
Co.  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  whatever  business  he  had 
in  hand,  and  to  observe  system  in  all  things.  These 


PLATONIC   LOVE.  I/ 1 

habits  he  now  applied  to  an  investigation  into  the 
origin  of  Christianity.  First,  he  analyzed  the  four 
Gospels,  to  form  a  clear  and  connected  picture  of  the 
majestic  personage  who  moves  through  those  wonder 
ful  narratives ;  and  next,  he  investigated  the  time, 
and  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Jews,  in  order  to 
view  the  Christ  in  his  actual  earthly  surroundings. 
The  result  of  these  latter  investigations  was  his  con 
viction  that  it  was  morally  impossible  for  the  first 
three  histories  to  have  been  written  much,  if  any, 
later  than  the  dates  usually  give  for  their  production, 
so  exactly  do  they  reflect,  and  fit  into,  the  period 
directly  prior  to  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem. 

Next,  with  no  aid  except  a  small  volume  by  Alex 
ander  Keith,  he  looked  into  the  prophecies,  having  in 
mind  the  fact  that  for  nearly  two  thousand  years  they 
had  been  in  the  custody  of  the  enemies  of  Christ,  and, 
therefore,  exempt  from  all  liability  to  being  garbled  or 
corrupted.  Exploring  them  for  the  earthly  history  of 
the  Christ,  he  found  that,  beginning  with  the  promise 
made  by  God  to  Abraham,  nearly  a  score  of  writers, 
differing  in  rank,  cultivation,  and  surroundings,  had 
during  a  period  of  fifteen  hundred  years,  predicted  the 
coming,  and  depicted  the  life  and  character  of  such  a 
personage  as  the  world  had  never  seen.  One  writer 
had  recorded  one  incident  in  his  career,  or  trait  in  his 
character,  another  writer,  another,  but,  all  combined, 
their  various  predictions  formed  an  outline  history  of 
the  earthly  life  of  Jesus,  in  entire  harmony  with  that 
written  by  the  four  evangelists.  It  was  as  if,  nearly 
two  thousand  years  before  he  was  born,  some  great 


1/2  THE  LAST   OF   THE   TH0RNDIKES. 

painter  had  sketched  in  rough  outline,  the  portrait  of 
a  most  remarkable  man,  who  was  to  come  upon  the 
earth,  and  had  hung  it  up  before  the  eyes  of  all  his 
countrymen.  In  another  hundred  years  another  great 
artist  had  arisen,  who  had  added  a  few  touches  to  the 
original  sketch,  and  a  century  later,  another,  and  then 
another,  and  another,  till  at  the  close  of  fifteen  hun 
dred  years,  at  least  twenty  artists  had,  at  longer  or 
shorter  intervals,  wrought  upon  the  picture,  each  one 
adding  some  new  and  additional  feature,  till,  at  the 
end  of  that  long  period,  the  great  portrait  had  been 
completed,  and  exhibited  to  the  gaze  of  all  mankind — 
as  it  had  been  by  the  Septuagint  translation  of  the 
Old  Testament,  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
before  the  birth  of  Christ. 

In  this  prophetic  history  the  young  man  saw  the 
life  of  Jesus  written  by  the  very  hand  of  Omnipotence  ; 
for  who  but  God  himself  could,  centuries  before  his 
coming,  thus  portray  in  unique  and  extraordinary 
detail,  the  life  of  the  most  original  man  ever  born  into 
the  world  ?  The  character  and  career  of  Christ,  as  he 
had  discovered  them  from  an  analytic  study  of  the 
four  Gospels,  had  fully  convinced  him  of  the  entire 
truth  of  the  narratives;  but  this  prophetic  evidence 
wrought  in  him  a  faith  even  stronger,  for  it  was  abso 
lutely  unassailable — not  liable  to  scientific  objection, 
nor  to  be  explained  away  by  any  mythical  theory. 
When  'it  fully  broke  upon  his  mind,  the  force  with 
which  it  struck  him  was  overpowering,  and  turning  to 
Isabel,  he  said,  "It  is  wonderful,  Bella,  wonder 
ful!" 


PLATONIC    LOVE.  173 

"  It  is  indeed  wonderful,"  she  answered.  "All  that 
Sister  Theresa  has  said  is  true.  He  is  our  Lord,  and 
as  He  died  for  us,  Richard,  so  will  we  live,  and  work, 
and  if  need  be,  die,  for  Him." 

Isabel  had  accompanied  him  at  every  step  of  this 
inquiry,  and  had  been  of  essential  service  in  it,  espe 
cially  in  the  examination  of  the  Gospel  narratives. 
While  his  comprehensive  mind  traced  more  readily 
the  broader  outlines  of  the  great  picture,  her  finer 
intellect  detected  sooner  than  his  those  details  of  local 
coloring  which  give  such  self-verifying  naturalness  to 
the  history.  For  instance,  she  saw  that  sudden  storms 
"  came  down  on  the  Lake,"  because  it  lies  six  hundred 
feet  below  the  Mediterranean,  vast  naked  heights 
stretching  away  from,  and  above  it,  through  which 
water-courses  have  ploughed  gigantic  funnels  that 
naturally  draw  the  cold  air  of  the  mountains  down,  in 
sudden  gusts,  to  the  heated  region  below.  Various 
topographical  allusions  also — such  as  going  down 
from  Nazareth  to  Capernaum,  up  from  Capernaum  to 
Jerusalem,  and  down  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho,  and 
others  of  similar  character,  which  are  scattered 
throughout  the  narratives,  she  was  the  first  to  point 
out,  and  they  were  additional  evidence  to  him  that  the 
several  accounts  had  been  written  by  men  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  topography  of  the  country. 

Other  self-verifying  circumstances  in  the  narratives 
she  in  like  manner  observed,  and  as  I  have  failed  to 
see  them  alluded  to  in  any  work  on  the  Gospels,  I 
may  as  well  briefly  refer  to  some  few  of  them  here, 
Richard  saw  that  there  had  been  two  cleansings  of  the 


1/4  THE   LAST   OF  THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

Temple  by  Jesus — one  at  the  beginning  of  his  minis 
try,  which  is  recorded  only  by  John,  the  other  at  its 
close,  mentioned  by  all  the  other  Evangelists,  and  his 
collateral  reading  had  satisfied  him  that  Annas,  Cai- 
aphas,  and  other  of  the  wealthy  Sadducean  priesthood, 
were  engaged  in,  and  derived  large  profits  from,  the 
traffic  in  the  animals  needed  for  the  sacrifices,  and 
the  exchanging  of  Roman  coin  into  the  Jewish  money 
required  for  the  Temple  tribute.  "  Here,  Bella,"  he 
said  to  her,  while  they  were  comparing  the  several 
accounts,  "  in  the  first  cleansing  of  the  Temple,  we 
see  the  beginning  of  the  hostility  of  Annas  and  the 
other  rulers,  which,  three  years  later,  cost  our  Lord 
his  life.  He  at  first  interfered  with  their  gains,  and  at 
last  his  growing  popularity  and  denunciation  of  them 
before  the  people,  gave  them,  they  thought,  no  alter 
native  between  taking  his  life,  and  losing  their 
power." 

"  Yes,  Richard,"  she  answered,  looking  up  from  the 
'  Harmony  of  the  Gospels,'  which  she  held  upon  her 
knee,  "and  do  you  notice  how  tamely  they  submitted 
to  him— he,  a  simple  Galilean  peasant,  and  they,  the 
mighty  rulers  of  the  Jews?  Something  in  his  manner 
awed  them.  The  spirit  of  greed  is  never  brave,  but 
they  were  conscious  of  doing  wrong,  and  '  conscience 
doth  make  cowards  of  us  all.'  " 

'  That  is  true,  Bella,  and  viewed  in  that  light  the 
narrative  is  wonderfully  natural." 

"  And  do  you  observe  this  also,  Richard  ?  "  she  con- 
tinued.  "At  the  first  cleansing  in  John,  it  is  said 
that  he  drove  out  sheep  and  oxen,  but  in  the  last 


PLATONIC   LOVE.  175 

three  accounts,  those  animals  are  not  mentioned — 
only  doves,  and  money-changers.  Three  years  had 
intervened  between  the  two  cleansings,  and  for  a  year 
and  a  half  of  that  time  Jesus  had  not  been  in  Jerusa 
lem.  The  rulers  had,  meanwhile,  mustered  courage 
enough  to  resume  the  traffic  in  doves,  but  not  in  the 
larger  and  more  noisy  animals." 

On  another  occasion,  when  they  were  considering 
the  treachery  of  Judas,  he  said  to  her,  "  I  have  never 
been  able,  Bella,  to  get  at  the  motive  of  that  man.  I 
have  read  the  different  theories  of  a  dozen  authors 
about  it ;  but  none  of  them  seem  to  have  analyzed 
him  correctly.  However  bad  he  may  have  been,  he 
could  not  have  been  three  years  in  daily  intercourse 
with  the  Lord,  without  becoming  too  much  attached 
to  Him  to  deliberately  compass  His  death.  He 
expected  by  joining  Christ — as  did  the  others — to 
share  in  a  temporal  kingdom,  but  he  could  not  have 
hoped  to  force  Jesus  to  deliver  himself  by  a  miracle, 
and  so  begin  his  reign,  for  he  knew  that  he  had 
refused  to  be  thus  made  a  king,  and  that  he  appealed 
to  only  the  moral  sentiments  of  men.  And,  thief  and 
miser  though  he  was,  thirty  pieces  of  silver — only 
about  a  hundred  dollars  of  the  money  of  to-day — 
could  not  have  tempted  him  to  so  dastardly  a  crime 
against  immaculate  goodness,  seeing  that  he  '  bore  the 
bag,'  and  could  have  stolen  that  sum  in  a  very  brief 
time.  Your  insight  is  wonderfully  clear,  Bella.  Tell 
me,  why  did  Judas  betray  the  Lord?" 

"  Don't  the  Gospels  themselves  give  the  reason, 
Richard  ?  "  she  answered.  "  Both  John  and  Luke  say 


176  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

that  'Satan  entered  into  Judas."  In  closing  his 
account  of  the  Temptation,  Luke  says  that  Satan 
departed  from  Jesus  '  for  a  season,'  implying-  that  he 
renewed  his  assaults,  and  I  think  our  Lord's  frequent 
reference  to  him  shows  that  he  followed  him  all 
through  his  career.  His  purpose  was  to  destroy  Him, 
and  his  influence  for  good  in  the  world.  He  could  do 
that  only  by  working  through  living  men.  He  could 
reach  them  through  their  lower  propensities,  thus 
arouse  the  evil  that  was  in  them,  and  mould  them  to 
his  purposes,  He  must  have  seen  that  Judas  was 
miserly,  greedy  of  gold,  and  ready  to  resort  to  any 
dishonest  means  to  gain  his  ends.  By  acting  on  these 
passions  he  had  got  such  control  over  him,  all  of  a 
year  before  the  betrayal,  that  our  Lord  said,  '  Have 
not  I  chosen  you  twelve,  and  one  of  you  is  a  devil.'  ' 

"  But  the  time  did  not  come  when  Satan  could  use 
Judas  as  an  instrument  for  Christ's  destruction  till  the 
last  visit  to  Jerusalem.  Then,  I  think,  we  can  see  the 
successive  steps  by  which  he  led  him  on  to  accom 
plish  his  purpose  to  destroy  Jesus.  The  first  step 
was  at  the  supper  at  Bethany.  Then,  when  the  spirit 
of  greed  in  Judas  was  excited  by  the  waste  of  the 
ointment,  and  his  anger  was  aroused  by  the  gentle 
reproof  of  the  Lord,  he  first  infused  into  his  mind  the 
idea  of  betraying  him.  Then,  Luke  says,  he  '  entered 
into  Judas' — and  Sister  Theresa  says  this  is  not  a 
mere  figure  of  speech,  but  the  statement  of  an  actual 
fact,  and  she  knows,  from  her  own  observation,  that 
spirits  have  power  to  possess  mortals.  Then,  she  says, 
Judas  in  a  sort  of  dazed  condition — much  the  same  as 


PLATONIC  LOVE.  1/7 

the  subject  is  in  when  under  control  of  a  magnetizer — 
was  led  by  Satan  to  the  chief-priests,  where  he  bar 
gained  to  betray  the  Lord.  After  that,  up  to  the 
time  of  the  last  supper,  she  supposes  him  to  have  been 
more  or  less  under  the  control  of  Satan — being  him 
self,  and  yet  not  fully  himself — until  the  time  when  at 
the  supper  Jesus  was  asked  to  point  out  the  one  who 
should  betray  him.  Then,  as  John  records,  Satan 
again  took  complete  possession  of  him,  and  held  it 
till  the  trial  of  Jesus  before  the  Sanhedrin  was  over. 
Then,  when  the  Jews  had  bound  Jesus,  and  were 
about  to  lead  him  away  to  Pilate,  Satan,  having  no 
further  use  for  Judas,  left  him,  and  all  at  once  the 
man  came  to  himself — to  the  full  possession  of  his 
own  mental  faculties — and  realized  his  great  crime  in 
betraying  his  Lord.  It  was  this  thought  that  must 
have  first  come  to  him,  for  he  did  not  yet  know  the 
consequences  of  his  treachery.  The  Sanhedrin  could 
condemn  a  man  to  death,  but  it  could  not  execute  the 
sentence.  Only  the  Roman  Governor  could  do  that, 
and  it  was  very  improbable  that  Pilate  would  order 
Jesus  put  to  death  on  any  such  charge  as  the  Jews 
could  bring  against  him.  So  it  was  remorse  at  having 
betrayed  the  innocent  which  so  horrified  Judas  that, 
casting  the  thirty  pieces  of  silver  at  the  feet  of  the 
priests,  he  went  away  and  hanged  himself." 

"  Then,  is  Judas  to  be  absolved  from  the  guilt  of  the 
betrayal?"  asked  Richard. 

"  I  think  not,  Richard,"  answered  Isabel.  "  Our 
Lord  himself  did  not  hold  him  guiltless.  He  said  it 
had  been  better  for  him  had  a  millstone  been  hanged 


178  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

about  his  neck,  and  he  drowned  in  the  depths  of  the 
sea.  Does  it  not  seem  to  you  that  the  guilt  of  Judas 
lay  mainly  in  his  evil  habit  of  mind,  which  enabled 
Satan  to  obtain  power  over  him  ?  Is  it  not  the  whole 
tenor  of  our  lives,  and  not  any  one  act,  that  decides 
our  characters  and  destiny  ?  It  seems  to  me  that 
Judas  was  thoroughly  bad  at  heart,  and  that,  even  if 
he  had  not  betrayed  our  Lord,  he  would  have  gone 
to  his  '  own  place '  among  the  lost  spirits." 

But  I  have  detailed  enough  of  these  interviews  to 
show  the  character  of  mind  of  both  this  young  man 
and  young  woman.  The  only  other  conversation  I 
shall  repeat  has  a  direct  bearing  upon  my  narrative. 
It  occurred  on  the  evening  directly  following  the  one 
which  has  been  referred  to. 

The  room  in  which  these  young  people  conducted 
their  studies  was  a  small  apartment  adjoining  the 
library,  furnished  with  a  few  easy  chairs,  a  sofa,  a  low 
table,  and  a  revolving  book-case,  which  Richard  had 
himself  constructed  to  hold  the  few  books  of  reference 
needed  for  the  particular  inquiry  they  chanced  to  be 
pursuing.  Isabel  usually  occupied  a  chair  on  one  side 
of  the  low  table,  while  Richard  sat  upon  the  sofa  on 
the  other  side,  and  their  sessions  were  always  in  the 
evening,  for  until  dinner — which  now  was  served  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon — Richard  was  engaged 
at  the  counting-house,  and  after  that  hour,  and  until 
about  dark,  he  was  employed— always  with  Isabel  and 
the  ponies— in  going  about  upon  the  affairs  of  the 
Industrial  School,  or  the  other  benevolent  projects  of 
Mr.  Lamson,  control  of  which  he  was  gradually  shift- 


PLATONIC   LOVE.  1/9 

ing  into  the  young  man's  hands,  to  familiarize  him  with 
their  management  against  the  time  when  he  should 
himself  return  to  America.  Often  Mr.  Lamson  and 
his  wife  passed  the  evening  with  them  in  this  little 
room,  but  more  frequently  the  two  young  people  were 
there  alone  together,  and  they  were  so  on  the  occasion 
I  now  refer  to. 

As  Richard  took  his  accustomed  place  at  the  back 
of  the  little  table,  he  said  to  Isabel,  "  Bella,  I  have 
been  thinking  over  what  you  said  last  evening  about 
Judas,  and  I  have  been  more  and  more  struck  with 
the  quick  perception,  and  wise  discrimination  of  his 
motives,  that  you  have  displayed.  The  wonder  to  me 
is,  how,  cooped  up  in  this  far-away  island  of  the 
China  sea,  you  have  been  able  to  acquire  the  mental 
training,  and  wide  knowledge,  that  you  have  shown  in 
all  our  studies." 

"  Well,  Richard,"  she  answered,  "  I  had  an  excel 
lent  governess  until  I  was  seventeen,  and  ever  since 
my  childhood  I  have  talked  a  good  deal  with  Sister 
Theresa,  and  she  knows  everything.  Besides,  I  have 
read  every  book  in  Father's  library — he  got  them  all 
for  me." 

"  But  all  that,  Bella,  is  not  enough  to  account  for 
it  without  your  admirable  qualities  of  mind.  You  see 
at  once  right  through  a  subject.  I  can't  tell  you  what 
a  help  you  are  to  me." 

"  It  makes  me  happy,  Richard,"  she  said,  "  to  know 
that  you  are  satisfied  with  me,  and  I  like  to  have  your 
praise  ;  but  you  must  not  flatter  me." 

"  Flatter  you,  Bella  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Is  it  flattery 


180  THE   LAST   OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

to  say  that  I  every  day  see  something  new  in  you  to 
admire  ?  You  do  not  know  that  twenty  times  in  every 
day  I  thank  God  for  bringing  you  into  my  life.  Had 
it  not  been  for  your  inexpressible  kindness,  I  could 
not  have  been  reconciled  to  living — that  blow  of  a  year 
ago  would  have  killed  me." 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she  answered, 
"  It  makes  me  very  happy  to  have  you  say  that, 
Richard.  And  if  I  have  been  a  help  to  you — about 
the  school,  and  in  these  studies — won't  you  tell  me  that 
I  may  help  you,  and  work  with  you,  in  everything  and 
always  ?  " 

"  Always  is  a  very  long  word,  dear  Bella,"  he  said, 
in  a  gentle  tone.  "  Do  you  reflect  that  some  day  you 
will  be  some  good  man's  wife — then  how  could  we 
work  together  ?  " 

"Never,  Richard,"  she  said,  her  eyes  still  glis 
tening.  "  I  shall  never  be  the  wife  of  any  man.  All 
that  I  ask  for  is  to  work  with  you,  and  for  you." 

"You  are  a  dear,  good  girl,  Bella  ;  but  have  you  fully 
considered  what  you  are  saying  ?  " 

"  Fully,  Richard.  I  had  rather  be  your  helper 
and  comrade,  than  the  wife  of  any  man  in  the 
world." 

"  And  what  has  brought  you  to  this  feeling  ?  "  he 
asked,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "  Speak 
openly  and  freely,  dear  Bella.  Do  not  fear  that  I 
shall  misunderstand  you." 

"  It  is  seeing  that  you  have  to  go  through  life  alone," 
she  said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation  ;  "  and  seeing, 
too,  that  you  love  me.  After  you  came  home  on  your 


PLATONIC   LOVE.  iSl 

twenty-first  birthday,  and  took  me  in  your  arms,  and 
called  me  all  those  endearing  names,  I  lay  awake  all 
night  in  a  very  tumult  of  joy  over  what  you  had  said. 
Then  I  found  out  that  I  loved  you — loved  you  well 
enough  to  die  for  you — that  I  couldn't  be  happy  with 
out  being  always  with  you.  At  first  I  thought  it  was 
wrong  to  feel  so  when  you  belonged  to  another,  and  I 
fell  upon  my  knees,  and  asked  the  Lord  to  give  me 
light.  Soon  the  light  came,  and  I  saw  that  it  could 
not  be  wrong  to  want  to  be  your  sister, — to  comfort 
and  care  for  you  always." 

"  But  did  you  reflect  that  when  your  father  and 
mother  go  to  America,  you  will  have  to  go,  too,  and 
that  then,  though  you  will  still  be  my  sister,  you  will 
be  fifteen  thousand  miles  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Richard,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  of  that ;  but 
if  you  are  willing,  I  will  not  go — I'll  stay  here,  and  be 
your  sister  always." 

"  But  you  can't  do  that,  dear  Bella,  with  your  father 
and  mother  away.  It  would  destroy  all  our  influence 
for  good,  if  we  lived  together  then — you  not  being  my 
wife." 

"  Then,  if  you  wished  it,"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
with  inexpressible  tenderness,  "  I  would  be  your  wife; 
for  I  could  not  live  away  from  you." 

Had  this  remark  been  made  to  him  by  any  young 
woman  among  his  Boston  acquaintance,  Richard 
would  have  recoiled  from  her  on  the  instant ;  but 
Isabel  was  not  familiar  with  our  American  life,  nor 
acquainted  -with  the  conventions  of  refined  society. 
While  in  a  certain  sense  cultivated,  and  of  inborn 


1 82  THE    LAST    OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

modesty  and  purity,  she  was  a  simple  child  of  nature, 
and  had,  moreover,  been  reared  by  parents  who  had 
taught  her  that  language  is  not  given  us  to  conceal 
our  thoughts. 

The  young  man  rested  his  head  upon  his  hand  a  few 
moments,  without  speaking.  It  was  more  than  a 
year  since  the  news  of  the  death  of  his  affianced  had 
come  to  him,  and  the  wound  was  not  yet  healed.  He 
had  thought  he  never  could  love  another,  and  possibly 
he  could  not,  exactly  as  he  had  loved  Charlotte.  But 
he  was  conscious  that  it  was  not  merely  gratitude  that 
had,  day  by  day,  so  drawn  him  more  and  more  to  this 
pure,  unselfish  soul,  who  now,  in  such  maiden  modesty, 
had  confessed  that  he  was  all  in  all  to  her.  He  felt 
sure  that  he  could  love  and  cherish  her,  as  she  de 
served  to  be  loved  and  cherished,  and  he  would  be  an 
ingrate  if  after  all  she  had  done  for,  and  been  to  him, 
he  should  turn  away  from  the  true  heart  that  she 
offered  him.  These  thoughts  passing  rapidly  through 
his  mind,  he  turned  to  her,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  tenderness,  "  Pardon  me,  dearest  Bella,  if  I 
have  taken  a  moment  to  think.  On  what  we  now  say 
to  each  other  may  depend  our  whole  lives.  Are  you 
sure  that  you  cannot  be  happy  without  me — that  you 
will  be  content,  whatever  may  come,  to  be  always 
with  me?  " 

"  I  am  sure,  Richard.  You  have  asked  me  to  be 
open  and  free  with  you,  and  I  shall  be.  Ever  since 
that  day,  more  than  a  year  ago,  I  have  thought  over 
it,  and  wept  over  it,  and  prayed  over  it, — and  I  know 
that  I  cannot  live  away  from  you.  But — I  do  not  ask 


PLATONIC    LOVE.  183 

to  be  your  wife,  I  only  want  to  be  your  sister,  I  only 
want  you  to  love  me  always." 

"  I  will,  and  do  love  you,  Bella,  and  you  shall  be  my 
sister,  or  my  wife,  whichever  you  like  ;  and  you  shall 
never  leave  me  so  long  as  I  live.  Now,  come  to  me, 
my  darling." 

She  rushed  into,  his  arms,  and  laying  her  head  upon 
his  breast,  sobbed  out,  "  Oh,  Richard !  my,  my 
Richard ! " 

He  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  and  called  her  by  every 
endearing  name,  and  then,  drawing  her  gently  down 
by  his  side,  he  wound  his  arm  about  her  while  her 
head  sank  upon  his  shoulder.  For  some  moments 
they  sat  thus  in  silence.  Then  looking  up  in  his 
face,  all  the  loving  tenderness  of  her  pure  soul  in  her 
eyes,  she  said,  "  Richard,  I  don't  believe  there  is  any 
dross  in  my  love  for  you.  At  first  I  feared  there  was, 
for  it  thrills  me  with  joy  to  feel  your  arm  about  me, 
your  lips  pressed  to  mine,  and  to  hear  you  call  me  by 
all  those  sweet  names  ;  but  since  the  love  of  our  dear 
Lord  has  dawned  upon  me,  I  know  there  is  not,  for 
He  himself  is  Love.  When  father  and  mother  go,  I 
will  be  your  wife,  but  your  sister  still." 

"And  can  you  let  them  go  so  far  away,  and  stay 
here  alone  with  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  love  them  most  dearly,  Richard,"  she  answered. 
"You  know  that  ;  but  you  are  more  to  me  than  all 
the  world  besides  ;  and  yet,  I  know  that  if  Charlotte 
were  to  come  back  to-morrow,  I  could  give  you  up  to 
her,  because  she  could  make  you  happier  than  I  can. 
Yet,  I  should  want  to  still  walk  by  your  side,  to  hold 


1 84  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

your  hand  in  mine,  and  to  be  your  comrade  and  sister 
as  I  am  now." 

"  Bella,  dear,"  he  said,  drawing  her  closely  to  him, 
"  you  are  an  angel.  In  all  heaven  there  can  be  noth 
ing  purer  and  truer  than  your  pure,  true  soul.  With 
you  always  by  my  side  I  can  be  every  way  a  man. 
Nothing  but  death  shall  separate  us  ;  and  when  you 
desire  it,  or  circumstances  require  it,  you  shall  be  my 
wife." 

She  wound  her  arms  again  about  his  neck,  and  look 
ing  up  lovingly  in  his  face,  said,  "  My  good,  noble 
Richard,  you  make  me  so,  so  happy.  I  will  never 
leave  you.  I  will  be  your  sister  always  ;  and  if  we  ever 
have  to  live  alone,  I  will  be  your  wife.  But  until  then 
it  is  better  that  things  should  be  as  they  are  now, 
though  I  do  want  you  to  once  in  a  while  put  your 
arm  about  me,  and  tell  me  that  you  love  me." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say,  Bella,"  he  answered. 
"  Henceforth  your  will  shall  be  my  law." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

FOUR  YEARS. 

FOUR  years  now  rolled  away  with  nothing  but  lov-' 
ing-kindness  in  that  far-away  household.  Gradually 
Mr.  Lamson  devolved  the  conduct  of  the  great  firm, 
more  and  more,  upon  young  Thorndike.  As  has  been 
said,  he  was  the  head  of  the  house,  and  this  position 
involved  his  absolute  control  of  a  business  spread  over 
two  hemispheres,  and  covering  transactions  reaching 
to  many  millions  annually  ;  for  the  two  New  York 
partners,  though  men  of  means  and  experience,  had 
but  a  subordinate  voice  in  the  conduct  of  the  business. 
It  was  one  of  Mr.  Lamson's  maxims  that  there  could 
be  but  one  head  to  an  army,  or  a  business  estab 
lishment.  Others  might  advise,  but  the  head  must 
govern,  and  that  as  absolutely  as  if  he  were  the 
"  Autocrat  of  all  the  Russias."  To  this  position  he 
was  entitled  both  from  having  originated  the  business, 
and  from  owning  much  the  larger  part  of  its  capital. 

Mr.  Lamson  had  now  definitely  decided  to  with 
draw  from  the  firm  at  the  close  of  the  five  years 
copartnership,  but  it  being  desirable  that  he  should 
leave  a  large  portion  of  his  capital  in  the  business,  it 
was  readily  conceded  by  the  other  partners  that  he 


1 86  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

should  decide  which  of  them  should  succeed  him  in 
its  principal  management.  It  soon  became  evident 
that  he  was  carefully  training  young  Thorndike  to 
fill  that  position,  and  an  incident  which  occurred  about 
two  years  after  the  young  man's  admission  to  the 
firm  rendered  it  certain  that  he  had  come  to  that 
decision. 

Richard  had  speedily  exhibited  qualities  which 
showed  him  peculiarly  fitted  for  the  management  of 
large  business  interests — a  cool  sagacity,  a  determined 
will,  and  a  broad  glance  that  swept  with  ease  over 
the  transactions  of  two  continents.  He  had  not  been 
six  months  a  partner  when  he  had  suggested  to  Mr. 
Lamson  an  operation  involving  the  control  of  a  par 
ticular  kind  of  tea  in  China,  Japan,  Europe,  and 
America,  and  which  would  employ  a  capital  of  a 
million,  and  require  all  of  a  year  and  a  half  for  its 
completion.  When  he  had  outlined  it  verbally  to 
Mr.  Lamson,  the  good  gentleman  said,  "  Put  it  into 
black  and  white,  Richard,  and  let  me  study  over  it." 
This  the  young  man  did,  stating  the  number  of  chests 
to  be  bought,  the  price  that  would  have  to  be  paid, 
and  the  sum  of  actual  money  required  to  be  invested  ; 
and  then  estimating  the  amount  of  sales,  the  prices 
the  tea  would  command  at  various  periods,  and  clos 
ing  with  a  calculation  of  the  net  profit  that  would  be 
realized  at  the  close  of  eighteen  months,  by  which 
time  he  estimated  that  the  transaction  would  be  com 
pleted.  This  paper  Mr.  Lamson  put  carefully  away, 
and  after  a  few  days  said  to  the  young  man,  "  That 
tea  transaction,  Richard,  I  think  might  as  well  be 


FOUR   YEARS.  l8/ 

gone  into ,  but  I  will  do  it  at  my  own  risk.  So, 
whatever  you  invest  in  it,  charge  up  to  my  private 
account.  I  shall  give  you  full  swing ;  but  you  may 
as  well  report  progress  to  me  from  time  to  time." 

It  was  about  a  year  after  the  interview  between 
Richard  and  Isabel  which  is  recorded  in  the  pre 
ceding  chapter,  when  Mr.  Lamson,  as  he  sat  at  dinner 
one  day  with  his  family,  said  to  the  young  man,  "  Do 
you  know,  Richard,  that  the  '  China '  brought  account- 
sales  of  the  last  of  your  tea  adventure?  " 

"Yes,  Sir,"  he  answered,  "  but  I've  not  had  time  to 
look  over  them." 

"  Well,  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Lamson,  "  and  I've  got 
at  the  result,  and  moreover,  have  followed  you  at  every 
step  of  your  programme." 

"And  what  is  the  result,  Sir?"  asked  Richard,  a 
shade  of  anxiety  on  his  face. 

"  That,  if  you  are  not  a  prophet,  you  have  read  the 
'book  of  Isaiah,"  answered  Mr.  Lamson,  smiling. 

"  Don't  talk  in  riddles,  Father,"  said  Isabel,  to 
whom  Richard  now  confided  all  his  affairs  of  whatever 
nature.  "  Please  tell  us.  I  am  dying  to  know." 

"  Well>"  replied  Mr.  Lamson,  "  it  overgoes  by 
about  ten  thousand  Mexicans  Richard's  calculation  ; 
and  moreover,  Richard,  the  price  of  the  tea,  at  stated 
periods,  in  London,  New  York,  and  Boston,  has  not 
varied  ten  per  cent  from  your  estimate." 

"Then  the  profit  is  very  large,  Father?  "  said  Isabel. 
"What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  it?  You  say  you 
have  more  money  than  you  want." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do   with   it,  my  dear?" 


1 88  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

asked  Mr.  Lamson,  smiling—"  found  another  orphan 
asylum  ?  " 

"  No,  Father,"  she  said.  "  I'll  take  care  of  the 
orphans.  Give  it  to  Richard — he  has  earned  it." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  Richard,  young  lady," 
said  Mr.  Lamson,  an  expression  of  decided  pleasure 
on  his  face.  "  He  can  take  care  of  himself.  He  is 
now  twenty-three,  and  if  he  lives,  he  will,  by  the  time 
he  is  thirty,  make  Lamson  &  Co.  twice  the  house 
that  it  is,  and  be  one  of  the  merchant  princes  of  the 
world.  Such  boldness  and  caution  I  never  knew  to 
be  combined  in  any  one  man.  Why,  Bella  dear,  no 
general  ever  planned  a  long  campaign  more  ably,  or 
forecasted  all  its  details  more  accurately,  than  Richard 
has  this  large  and  extended  transaction." 

The  young  man  sat  for  some  moments  in  silence, 
unable  to  speak ;  when  he  did,  he  said  in  a  husky 
tone,  "  You  overwhelm  me,  Sir,  with  your  goodness. 
I  value  your  approbation  more  than  I  am  able  to  tel-l 
you." 

"You  need  not  tell  me,  my  boy,"  said  the  good 
man.  "  It  will  be  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  my 
life  to  be  the  ladder  by  which  you  climb." 

That  evening  Richard  preceded  Isabel  by  a  few 
moments  at  the  session  in  the  little  room  adjoining 
the  library.  On  entering  it  she  went  directly  up  to 
him,  and  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck,  ex 
claimed,  "  Oh !  Richard,  I  am  so  proud  of  you  ! 
Think  of  what  Father  said,  that  you,  who  take  such 
delight  in  studies  that  most  men  of  business  never 
think  of,  should  be  a  prince  among  merchants  !  But 


FOUR   YEARS.  189 

rather  than  see  you  a  prince,  or  a  King,  or  even  an 
Emperor,  I  would  have  you  what  you  are — a  good 
man,  and  my  loving  friend,  comrade,  and  co-worker  for 
our  dear  Lord.  Oh  !  I  am  so  proud  of  you  !  " 

"  That  you  are,  my  darling,  gratifies  me  more  than 
anything  that  your  father — good  as  he  is — could  say 
to  me,"  he  answered,  drawing  her  down  by  his  side, 
and  winding  his  arm  about  her.  "  And  can  you  guess, 
dear,  why  I  take  such  delight  in  this  little  room,  and 
these  studies?  " 

"  I'm  not  good  at  guessing,"  she  said,  looking  up 
archly  in  his  face.  "  Why  is  it,  Richard?  " 

"  Because  you  are  with  me — because  here  I  have 
you  all  to  myself." 

"I  knew  what  you  would  say,"  she  answered,  resting 
her  head  against  his  shoulder,  "  and  yet,  I  wanted  you 
to  say  it — it  is  such  a  joy  to  have  you  tell  me  that 
you  love  me.  But,  Richard,  is  not  your  heart  too  full 
to  study,  or  even  to  talk,  to-night?  Mine  is.  I  want 
to  sit  here  in  silence — your  arm  so  about  me — and 
to  drink  in  all  this  happiness." 

For  long  they  sat  thus,  neither  of  them  speaking. 
At  last,  looking  up  in  his  eyes,  she  said  to  him,  "  I 
can  feel  your  heart  beat,  Richard,  and  I  can  read  your 
thoughts,  though  neither  of  us  have  spoken.  Is  it  not 
so  with  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Bella,  it  is.  I  read  your  soul  as  if  it  were  an 
open  book." 

"  So  I  do  yours,  and  I  suppose  this  is  that  commun 
ion  of  souls  which,  Sister  Theresa  says,  loving  friends 
have  with  one  another  in  the  spirit  world.  She  says 


190  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

that  there  congenial  minds  interchange  ideas,  have 
long  conversations,  and  never  utter  one  word  of  articu 
late  language." 

"  I  can  conceive  it  to  be  so,"  he  answered.  "  If  it 
can  be  so  here,  why  not  much  more  there,  where  the 
spirit  is  freed  from  the  trammels  of  the  earthly 
body?" 

"  And  she  says  that  the  other  world  is  much  like 
this  world,  being  the  substance  of  which  this  is  the 
shadow,  and  differing  from  it  only  as  the  spiritual 
differs  from  the  material.  She  has  seen  there  lakes 
and  rivers,  and  mountains,  and  delightful  scenery,  all 
more  ethereal  than  air,  and  as  exactly  adapted  to  our 
spiritual  nature,  as  this  world  is  to  our  human  nature. 
There  all  the  orderly  desires  of  the  soul  will  be  satis 
fied  ;  and  she  says  that  the  good  live  there  in  families, 
just  as  we  do  here  ;  and  won't  it  be  glorious,  Richard, 
to  be  all  together  in  such  a  world  ?  for  I  know  we  shall 
be — your  father  and  mother,  and  mine,  and  your  uncle 
and  Charlotte,  and  you  and  I — all  in  one  loving  house 
hold  ?  " 

"  And,  do  you  think,  Bella,"  he  asked,  "that  you 
could  be  happy  there,  if  Charlotte  and  I  were  to 
gether  ?  I  do  not  know  that  we  shall  be — I  am  sure 
that,  much  as  she  was  to  me,  I  never  loved  her  any 
better  than  I  love  you." 

"Not  any  better,  Richard,"  she  answered,  "but 
differently.  I  know,  for  women  have  intuitions  which 
men  have  not.  There  is  a  part  of  your  nature  into 
which  I  have  not  entered,  and  cannot  enter.  That 
part  of  you  belongs  to  Charlotte.  I  am  content  to 


FOUR   YEARS.  19! 

possess  the  rest — to  be  your  loving  helper  and  comrade 
always.  And  there,  Richard,  we  can  work  together 
for  our  dear  Lord,  just  as  we  do  here.  Did  you  never 
think  of  the  thousands  of  poor,  ignorant,  degraded 
souls  who  go  into  that  world  every  day,  and  who  need 
guiding,  instructing,  and  uplifting?  Among  them  we 
can  work  together,  and  forever.  Being  with  you  in 
that  work  now  is  the  great  joy  of  my  life,  and 
to  be  with  you  so  always  will  be  all  I  shall  ask." 

"Ah,  Bella!"  he  said.  "I  am  one  of  those  poor 
souls  whom  you  every  day  do  good  to.  Day  by  day 
your  pure,  uplifting  influence  is  making  me  a  better, 
more  spiritually-minded  man." 

"  I  know  that  you  always  speak  truly,  Richard,  and 
to  have  you  say  that  thrills  me  with  delight."  Saying 
this,  she  threw  her  arms  impulsively  about  him,  and 
drawing  his  face  down  to  hers,  pressed  her  lips  to  his 
tenderly.  At  that  moment  her  mother  entered  the 
little  apartment.  She  paused  for  an  instant  on  the 
threshold,  then  going  directly  to  Richard,  she  put  her 
arms  about  them  both,  saying,  "  This  makes  me  very 
happy,  my  children.  How  long  has  this  been,  dears  ?  " 

"  Never  but  twice  before,  Mother,"  said  Isabel,  re 
suming  her  former  position.  "  And  this  time  it  is  all 
my  fault,  Mother.  I  couldn't  resist  telling  Richard 
how  much  I  love  him." 

"  And  does  Richard  love  you  as  well  as  you  love 
him,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Mother,"  he  answered,  "  and  she  has  prom 
ised  to  stay  here,  and  be  my  wife,  when  you  go  to 
America." 


192  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  It  gives  me  great  joy,  Richard,  to  hear  it.  It  is 
the  one  thing  more  than  all  else  in  the  world,  that 
I  have  desired.  It  will  make  your  father  as  happy 
as  it  makes  me.  I  will  go  and  tell  him.  You  remain 
here.  I  may  call  you  in  a  few  moments." 

Tears  of  joy  were  in  her  eyes  when  she  left 
the  room.  As  she  did  so,  Isabel  said  to  Richard, 
"  Oh  !  my  darling — it  makes  me  tremble — the  fear 
of  what  Father  may  say,  and,  too,  this  is  so  sudden." 

"  Have  no  fear,  Bella,"  he  said  to  her,  "  your  father 
will  feel  as  she  does." 

In  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Lamson  reappeared  in  the 
doorway,  saying,  "Come,  Children, ".and  they  followed 
her  into  the  library.  Mr.  Lamson  was  seated  upon  a 
lounge  at  the  farther  end  of  the  large  apartment,  a  file 
of  newspapers,  which  had  arrived  by  the  last  incoming 
ship,  lying  on  the  floor  at  his  feet.  He  looked  up  as 
they  entered  the  room,  and  smiled  as  he  said,  "  Come 
here,  young  folks,  and  sit  with  me — one  of  you  on 
either  side.  Richard,  I  have  not  been  blind — I  have 
seen  this  coming." 

"  I — suppose,  Sir,  that  you  have — I  am  not  good 
at  concealment — and — I  love  her,  Sir,"  stammered 
Richard. 

"  And  what  do  you  say,  little  one  ?  Do  you  love 
him?  " 

"  Ask  Richard,  Father,"  she  answered,  coloring 
deeply.  "  He  knows — I  have  told  him." 

"  I  presume  you  have,  a  hundred  times  over,"  he 
said,  laughing.  "  But,  Richard,  do  you  reflect  that 
next  to  her  mother,  this  little  girl  is  the  most  precious 


FOUR    YEARS.  193 

thing  I  have  in  the  world  ?  and  that,  if  we  should  part 
with  her,  her  mother  and  I  would  have  no  one  to  com 
fort  our  old  age  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  would  be  so,  Sir,"  answered  Richard, 
"  but  in  my  selfishness  I  have  not  given  proper  thought 
to  it.  It  was  ungrateful  in  me,  Sir  ;  but  my  love  for 
her  has  made  me  forget  everything  else." 

"And  what  say  you,  my  pretty  one?"  he  asked, 
turning  to  his  daughter.  "Are  you  willing  to  stay 
here — your  father  fifteen  thousand  miles  away?" 

She  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  in  a  burst 
of  tears  exclaimed,  "Oh!  don't  ask  me,  Father.  I 
have  not  thought  of  you  as  I  ought.  But,  indeed,  and 
indeed,  I  do  love  you.  But,  Father,  what  should  I  do 
without  Richard?  And  can't  you  stay  here?  Do, 
dear  Father,  and  then  I  won't  marry  Richard,  and 
we'll  all  live  together,  just  as  we  do  now.  I  don't  ask 
to  be  his  wife — I  only  want  to  be  with  him  everyday." 

"  You  are  a  sweet,  innocent  child,"  said  Mr.  Lam- 
son,  kissing  her;  "but  you  don't  know  yourself. 
Come  now,  my  dear,  dry  your  eyes,  for  I  won't  force 
you  to  part  from  Richard.  " 

In  a  moment  the  good  man  went  on.  "  Richard,"  he 
said,  "  these  women  rule  the  world — there  is  no  resist 
ing  them.  I  have  seen  that  this  was  coming,  and,  as 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go  home,  you  two  will 
have  to  go  with  me ;  and  there  we  will  live  as  we  do 
here,  all  together. " 

"What,  to  America,  Father!"  exclaimed  Isabel. 
"Take  us  both  with  you  !  Oh!  what  a  dear,  good 
father  you  are. " 


194 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 


"  Yes,  my  dear, "  he  said,  meekly  accepting  the 
caress  that  she  gave  him.  "  Richard,  I  see  no  other 
way  out  of  the  dilemma.  When  you  came  with  us, 
Mr.  Russell  proposed  to  take  my  place  here,  while  I 
took  his  in  New  York  ;  but  I  preferred  to  take  you, 
whom  I  could  train  in  my  ways.  Now,  we  will  let 
Russell  have  what  he  wants — a  taste  of  China — and 
make  it  pleasant  to  him  by  increasing  his  interest 
somewhat ;  and  you  shall  take  my  place  at  the  head 
of  the  house,  but  live  in  New  York." 

"  But,  Sir,"  said  Richard,  "I  have  neither  the  abil 
ity,  nor  the  experience  to  fit  me  for  that  position." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  answered  Mr.  Lamson, 
"  but  if  you  hav'n't  now,  you  will  have  by  the  time 
the  change  can  be  made — nearly  three  years  hence. 
And  I've  thought  of  what  this  little  girl  of  yours 
said  at  dinner — that  it  was  you  who  had  earned  the 
profits  on  the  tea  adventure — and  I've  been  down  to 
the  office,  and  had  them  credited  up  to  you.  It  will 
give  you  more  weight  with  the  other  partners." 

"  But,  Sir, "  said  the  young  man,  "  they  amount  to 
fully  half  a  million  dollars." 

"  No,  not  so  much  as  that,  for  it  is  right  that  I 
should  charge  interest  on  the  capital  you've  em 
ployed  ;  but,  with  your  other  earnings,  they'll  give 
you  a  round  five  hundred  thousand  to  go  to  New  York 
with." 

"Oh!  what  a  Father!"  cried  Isabel,  clapping  her 
hands  together  joyously.  "  And  you  did  that  on 
account  of  what- 1  said  !  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do — I'll 
praise  Richard  so  much  to  you,  that  you'll  give  him 


FOUR   YEARS.  195 

a  hundred  thousand  a  day,  and  then,  pretty  soon,  you 
won't  have  anything,  and  will  have  to  live  with  us — 
on  our  bounty.  Richard  !  Just' to  think  of  it!"  The 
last  words  were  broken  by  screams  of  laughter,  which 
infected  all  in  the  room  in  spite  of  themselves. 

"And,  Richard,"  continued  Mr.  Lamson,  "  if  you 
will  look  at  the  books  when  you  go  down  in  the  morn 
ing,  you  will  see  that  when  I  was  fixing  up  the  tea 
adventure,  I  had  the  outside  capital  you  had  em 
ployed  in  it — a  trifle  over  a  million — transferred  to  the 
credit  of  Miss  Isabel  Lamson." 

"  A  million  of  dollars  for  me !  Father  !  "  cried 
Isabel.  "  Why,  what  in  the  world  can  I  do  with 
it?" 

"  Spend  the  income  of  it,  my  dear,"  he  answered, 
smiling.  "  It's  the  price  the  Compradore  was  willing 
to  pay  for  you  ;  and  of  course,  Richard  wouldn't  bid 
lower  than  a  greasy  Chinaman." 

"  Of  course  he  wouldn't,"  she  said  laughing.  "  He'd 
give  two  millions  for  me — if  he  had  them.  But, 
Father,  I'll  sell  myself  to  you  for  a  single  Mexican." 

"  Now,  Richard,"  said  Mr.  Lamson,  "are  these 
arrangements  satisfactory  to  you  ?  " 

"Satisfactory,  Sir!  exclaimed  Richard.  "  I  have  no 
words  to  express  my  gratitude." 

"  You  need  not  express  it,"  said  the  good  man  ; 
"still,  you  ought  to  be  grateful,  for  I  am  giving  you 
the  apple  of  my  eye,  the  very  joy  of  my  life.  But,  I 
am  glad  to  do  it — for  I  know  that  you  will  love  and 
cherish  her  as  you  ought.  Now,  take  Bella  into  your 
little  room,  and  talk  this  over  by  yourselves.  You 


196  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

understand,  we  cannot  go  to  America,  and  reorganize 
the  firm,  until  the  expiration  of  the  present  copart 
nership  ;  but  that  need  not  hinder  you  two  from 
assuming  a  new  relation  whenever  you  think  best." 

When  they  resumed  their  seats  in  the  little  study, 
Isabel  seemed  to  have  lost  all  of  her  exuberant  spirits, 
and  she  said  to  the  young  man  in  a  thoughtful  way, 
"  It  seems,  Richard,  as  if  circumstances  were  forcing 
me  to  be  your  wife,  whether  I  will  or  not." 

"And  is  that  a  hardship,  Bella?"  he  asked,  in  a 
half-reproachful  tone.  "  It  did  not  seem  to  be  so  a 
few  moments  ago." 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  answered.  "  It  is  not  that,  and  you 
must  not  think  it  is.  You  know,  dear,  it  would  be  the 
greatest  happiness  that  could  come  to  me.  But, 
Richard,  a  strange  feeling  holds  me  back.  I  do  not 
know  why  it  is,  or  what  it  is ;  but  the  oftener  I  go  to 
the  Lord  about  it,  the  more  it  grows  upon  me.  I 
shall  take  circumstances  as  the  showing  of  His  will ; 
and  if  they  lead  me  to  you,  I  shall  go  joyfully.  If 
Father  and  Mother  were  to  go  without  us,  the  neces 
sity  would  be  imperative  ;  but  now,  it  is  not.  I  shall 
love  you  just  as  well,  you  will  love  me  just  as  well ; 
and  had  we  then  not  better  wait  till  we  go  to  Amer 
ica  ?  " 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  say,  dear  Bella,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  Whatever  you  desire  I  will  do." 

"  You  are  a  dear,  kind,  considerate  Richard,"  she 
said,  warmly.  "  I  see  something  in  you  to  make  rne 
love  you  better  every  day." 

After  that  they  sat  there  in  silence,   as  they  had 


FOUR   YEARS.  197 

before,  drinking  in  the  new  happiness  of  having  her 
father  and  mother  with  them  always ;  and  upon  that 
silence  we  will  not  intrude. 

The  affairs  of  the  school  with  which  she  was  con 
nected,  had  obliged  Sister  Theresa  to  be,  for  some 
years,  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Lamson  ; 
but  since  the  young  people  had  begun  the  studies 
which  have  been  referred  to,  her  visits  had  been  more 
frequent,  and  longer  continued,  she  often  passing 
entire  evenings  with  them,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lamson, 
in  the  library,  discussing  and  explaining  the  particular 
subject  they  had  under  consideration.  When  Richard 
had  related  to  her  the  effect  which  the  prophetic  por 
trait  of  Christ  had  produced  on  his  mind,  and  that  of 
Isabel,  she  said  to  them,  "  Do  not  stop  there.  You 
have  found  the  living  Christ,  the  Divine  man,  the  only 
Being  through  whom  God  ever  did  or  ever  will,  make 
Himself  fully  known  to  man.  Now,  ponder  His  life 
and  teachings  till  He  shall  take  full  possession  of  your 
hearts,  and  transform  your  human  natures  into  a  nearer 
likeness  to  His  own  Divine  nature.  So  will  you  be 
lifted  above  the  petty  affairs  of  this  transient  life,  and 
your  souls  become  centred  in  the  higher  life  which  is 
eternal." 

"  Having  found  the  personal  Christ  in  the  prophe 
cies,"  she  continued,  "  now  read  them  and  the  Revela 
tion,  to  learn  the  future  progress  of  his  kingdom  ;  for 
they  span  the  whole  arch  of  time,  and  give  us  the 
world's  history  of  the  very  end.  Then,  see  how  He 
formed  and  educated  the  Jewish  people — pouring,  as 


198  THE   LAST  OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

it  were,  his  precious  ointment  into  an  alabaster  vase, 
which  was  to  be  broken  that  the  fragrant  perfume  of 
His  life  and  truth  might  be  diffused  abroad  over  the 
earth.  Then,  notice  how  He  prepared  the  world  for 
the  reception  of  this  truth — how  the  conquests  of 
Alexander  spread  the  Greek  language  among  all  civ 
ilized  peoples,  and  the  victories  of  Caesar,  established 
a  firm  government  over  the  entire  world,  which  held 
all  nations  at  peace  till  His  Gospel  could  secure  a  per 
manent  lodgment  among  men ;  then,  notice  the  over 
throw  of  the  Roman  Empire,  how  it  was  conquered  by 
the  Northern  hordes,  only  that  they  might  be  con 
quered  by  Christ,  and  be  the  builders  of  modern 
Europe;  then,  observe  our  own  barbarian  ancestors, 
emerging  half-clothed  from  the  forests  of  Germany,  to 
build  upon  a  little  island  in  the  Northern  ocean  our 
Anglo-Saxon  race  which  is  to  rule  the  world,  and 
whose  glorious  mission  it  is  to  be  the  Apostle  of 
enlightened  liberty  and  Christian  civilization  to  all  the 
nations  of  the  earth.  Your  eyes  being  open  to  know 
the  Divine  Christ,  you  will  behold  Him  everywhere— 
will  see  that  He  is  the  centre  of  all  history,  the  pivot 
on  which  turns  our  human  destiny,  the  Alpha  and 
Omega,  the  beginning  and  the  ending,  and  the  first 
and  the  last  of  all  things." 

o 

When  the  Sister  had  taken  her  leave,  and  Mr.  Lam- 
son  and  his  wife  had  retired  for  the  night,  Isabel  said 
to  Richard,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion, 
"  Richard,  do  you  not  feel  that  you  would  like  to  give 
yourself  to  our  dear  Lord  ?  Shall  we  not  go  into  our 
little  room,  and  there,  on  our  knees,  consecrate  our- 


FOUR   YEARS.  199 

selves  to  his  service   for  all  our  lives,  here  and  here 
after?" 

"  Yes,  Bella,"  he  answered,  "  I  do.  We  will." 
Then,  beside  the  low  table  in  the  little  study  where 
they  had  found  the  Christ,  they  fell  upon  their  knees, 
and  his  hand  clasped  in  hers,  and  his  arm  wound  about 
her  waist,  he  spoke  these  words,  "  To  Thee,  oh !  merci 
ful  Lord,  who  hast  revealed  Thyself  to  us  in  the  still 
air  of  this  little  room,  we,  Thy  weak  and  erring  children, 
come  to  dedicate  ourselves,  both  in  our  bodies  and 
our  souls,  for  this  life,  and  for  that  which  is  to  be  here 
after.  In  Thy  great  goodness  Thou  hast  given  us  a  dim 
vision  of  Thy  supernal  beauty,  oh  !  give  us  a  still  nearer 
vision,  that  our  hearts  may  be  so  infused  with  love  to 
Thee,  that  our  souls  may  be  eager,  and  our  feet  swift, 
to  follow  in  the  footprints  which  in  Thy  human  life 
Thou  didst  leave  upon  the  earth.  Give  us  light  to  see 
our  way,  give  us  strength  to  do  Thy  will,  guard  us  from 
all  that  may  allure  us  from  Thy  truth,  and  accept  our 
imperfect  service,  making  it,  day  by  day,  more  and 
more  perfect  through  Thy  abounding  love.  And  oh! 
Merciful  Christ,  and  Thou,  Almighty  Father,  I,  Thy 
unworthy  son,  thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast  led  me  out 
of  darkness  into  Thy  marvellous  light,  and  blest  my 
lonely  life  with  the  gift  of  the  pure  soul  who  is  kneel 
ing  by  my  side.  Oh !  cleanse  my  nature  from  all 
dross,  from  every  taint  of  earth-born  passion  and 
desire,  that  my  love  for  her  may  be  as  clean  and  pure 
in  Thy  sight  as  is  the  love  of  the  angels  ;  and  help 
me,  oh  !  Lord,  to  be  her  stay  and  comfort,  her  conso 
lation  and  support,  so  long  as  we  both  shall  live." 


200  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNUIKES. 

Twining  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  lifting  her 
eyes  up  to  Heaven,  Isabel  then  said,  "  Dear  Lord, 
his  words  are  my  words,  and  out  of  Thy  great  goodness 
I  pray  Thee  to  hear  and  answer  them  ;  and,  dear  Lord, 
hear,  too,  my  prayer  for  him.  Have  Thou  his  soul  in 
Thy  mighty  keeping.  Guide  him  on  his  upward  way. 
Let  not  my  earthly  love  impede  his  progress,  but 
purify  the  love  of  us  both  in  the  fire  of  Thy  Divine 
love.  Oh !  dear  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  for  giving  to  me 
his  true,  manly  heart.  Make  me  worthy  of  the  great 
gift.  Fit  me  to  be  his  stay  and  comfort  through  all 
the  changes  and  chances  that  may  come  to  him  in  life. 
If  it  seems  best  to  Thee  to  try  him  with  adversity, 
strengthen  me  to  walk  faithfully  by  his  side  ;  if  Thou 
should'st  give  him  prosperity,  let  it  not  wean  his  heart, 
or  mine,  from  supreme  devotion  to  Thee.  If  poverty 
comes,  may  we  be  content ;  if  riches  are  ours,  let  them 
not  sink  us  into  worldliness ;  and  may  we  never  forget 
that  all  Thy  gifts  are  bestowed  that  we  may  help  and 
succor  Thy  more  needy  and  afflicted  children.  And, 
dear  Lord,  if  Thou  shalt  choose  to  bind  us  together  by 
an  earthly  tie,  may  we  gratefully  accept  the  duties  it  in 
volves  ;  and  if  Thou  shalt  see  fit  to  keep  us  apart,  let  us 
be  equally  grateful,  and  as  true,  and  faithful,  and  loving 
to  each  another,  as  if  man  had  made  us  one.  But,  oh ! 
dear  Lord,  do  not  divide  our  lives,  for  he  is  the  soul  of 
my  soul,  the  life  of  my  life,  and  bereaved  of  him  Thy 
poor,  wayward  child  would  be  without  comfort  or  sup 
port  in  the  world.  Still,  not  my  will,  oh !  Father, 
but  Thine  be  done.  And  above  all,  dear  Lord,  let 
not  the  ineffable  sweetness  we  find  in  each  other's 


FOUR   YEARS.  2OI 

love,  lead  us  to  forget  Thee  and  Thy  love ;  but  let  it 
lift  our  hearts  nearer  to  Thee,  till  our  human  love  sball 
be  transmuted  into  Thy  Divine  love,  and  be  ours  for 
ever." 

Then,  still  kneeling  there,  he  strained  her  to  him  in 
a  long  embrace,  and  their  two  natures  met,  and  blended 
in  that  spiritual  union  that  is  known  only  to  pure  hearts. 
And  thus  they  grew  together,  two  separate  souls,  with 
but  one  mind,  one  heart,  one  purpose,  giving  of  love 
and  light  to  one  another,  and  bound  together  like  twin 
stars,  circling  about  each  other  through  the  heavens, 
and  not  to  be  torn  apart  without  mutual  destruction. 

And  this  new  joy  which  had  come  into  their  lives 
made  of  these  two  young  people  new  creatures.  It 
did  not  radically  change  their  natures ;  but  it  wonder 
fully  developed  them.  It  made  of  him  a  stronger, 
manlier  man,  of  her  a  sweeter,  more  beautiful  woman 
— surpassingly  beautiful  when,  thrilled  by  his  look  of 
love,  her  face  glowed,  her  eye  beamed,  and  her  very 
soul  bounded  to  meet  his.  Then  she  seemed  scarcely 
a  thing  of  earth,  but  a  pure  being  from  some  far-away 
world  into  which  sin  and  sorrow  have  never  entered. 
And  this  inward  joy  diffused  itself  all  around  her.  It 
was  felt  by  her  father  and  mother,  who  would  now 
and  then  take  her  in  their  arms,  and  say  to  Richard, 
"  Dear  boy,  see  what  a  sweet  and  lovely  child  you  have 
given  to  us  ;  "  and  it  was  seen  by  the  downcast  and 
needy,  among  whom  she  daily  ministered,  so  that  when 
the  ear  heard  her,  then  it  blessed  her,  and  when  the 
eye  saw  her,  it  gave  witness  that  she  had  been  with 
Him  whose  love  is  a  well-spring  of  joy  forever. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   GOOD    MAN'S   DEATH. 

THE  five  years  assigned  for  the  copartnership 
having  expired,  Mr.  Lamson  retired  from  the  business, 
and  Mr.  Russell  arrived  at  Victoria  to  take  charge  of 
the  China  branch  of  the  great  house.  It  was  Septem 
ber  in  the  year  1855,  and  since  the  preceding  July  the 
cholera  had  raged  fearfully  in  Hong  Kong.  That 
terrible  scourge  is  endemic  to  China,  and  it  appears 
every  season  among  the  squalid  Asiatic  population  of 
Victoria,  carrying  off  many  hundreds,  but  during  this 
season  it  had  been  peculiarly  fatal  and  aggressive. 
Familiarity  with  danger  is  said  to  rob  it  of  its  terrors, 
and  the  members  of  Mr.  Lamson's  household  had 
become  so  accustomed  to  the  fell  disease  that  its 
annual  outbreak  created  no  alarm  among  them. 

Mr.  Lamson  in  particular  had  no  fear  of  the  pesti 
lence,  and  it  was  his  custom  to  make  daily  visits  to  a 
cholera  hospital  which  he  had  established  in  one  of 
the  lower  quarters  of  the  town,  and  there  to  mingle 
freely  among  the  patients,  looking  personally  to  see 
that  they  had  the  necessary  medical  and  other  treat 
ment.  His  theory  was  that  the  disease  was  communi 
cated  by  touch,  and  was  harmless  if  the  first  symp- 


A   GOOD    MAN  S   DEATH.  203 

toms  were  attended  to  promptly.  But  in  this  July, 
when  the  scourge  first  developed  a  more  than  ordi 
narily  fatal  character,  Mrs.  Lamson  took  alarm,  and 
urged  upon  her  husband  to  relinquish  his  visits  to  the 
hospital,  and  to  hasten  their  departure  for  America. 
But  Mr.  Lamson  could  not  leave  Hong  Kong  till  Mr. 
Russell  had  arrived,  and  the  ship  bearing  that  gentle 
man  did  not  come  in  to  port  until  the  last  day  in 
August.  Then  a  fortnight  was  consumed  in  making 
the  New  York  partner  acquainted  with  the  Chinese 
ramifications  of  the  extensive  business,  and  in  getting 
on  board  ship  the  treasured  heir-looms,  and  other  arti 
cles  of  special  value,  which  the  family  desired  to  take 
with  them  to  America.  It  was,  therefore,  not  till  the 
fifteenth  of  September  that  all  was  in  readiness  for 
their  departure.  In  the  meanwhile  Mr.  Lamson  had 
deemed  it  necessary  to  go  occasionally  to  the  cholera 
hospital ;  though  out  of  regard  to  the  wishes  of  his 
wife,  his  visits  had  been  few  and  infrequent. 

At  last  all  the  preliminaries  of  departure  were 
arranged  and  it  was  decided  that  the  ship  which 
should  bear  Mr.  Lamson  away — -to  "  lay  his  bones," 
as  he  desired,  in  his  native  land — should  sail  on  the 
eighteenth  of  the  month.  Directly  after  sunset,  on 
the  fifteenth,  as  Mr.  Lamson  sat  with  his  family,  dis 
cussing  with  Mr.  Russell  and  Richard  some  projected 
operations  of  the  new  firm,  he  suddenly  experienced  a 
vague  feeling  of  unrest  at  the  stomach,  together  with  a 
general  sense  of  heat  and  disorder.  Perfectly  familiar 
with  the  cholera,  he  recognized  at  once  its  premonitory 
symptoms,  and  he  said  to  the  young  man,  "  Richard, 


204  THE    LAST   OF   TIIE   TIIORNDIKES. 

will  you  have  one  of  the  servants  go  for  Dr.  Wyman, 
immediately." 

All  in  the  room  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  hurried 
towards  him,  while  Isabel  cried,  "  What  is  the  matter, 
Father?" 

"  Nothing  serious,  my  dear,"  he  answered.  "  I  am 
attacked,  but  we  have  plenty  of  time  ;  so,  don't  be 
alarmed." 

While  Richard  hurried  from  the  room  to  dispatch 
the  servant,  Mrs.  Lamson  and  Isabel  accompanied 
the  good  gentleman  to  his  chamber,  where  they  hoped 
by  chafing,  and  warm  applications,  to  keep  up  the 
surface  circulation  till  the  arrival  of  the  physician. 
Richard  remained  down-stairs,  waiting  with  restless 
impatience  for  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Wyman.  When,  at 
the  end  of  a  half-hour  he  had  not  come,  he  ordered  up 
the  Mongolians,  and  went  himself  in  pursuit  of  him. 
Following  him  about  from  place  to  place,  he  at  last 
found  him  at  the  most  remote  house  on  the  Peak,  and, 
though  he  drove  at  a  reckless  speed,  it  was  some 
minutes  after  nine  o'clock  before  he  returned  with  him 
to  the  mansion.  Dr.  Wyman  was  the  most  skilful 
physician  on  the  Island,  and  in  numberless  cases  had 
mastered  the  disease  in  its  earlier  stages,  but  this  case 
was  to  baffle  all  his  art  and  experience.  The  malady 
had  run  only  a  little  more  than  two  hours,  but  Mrs. 
Lamson  and  Isabel,  with  all  their  efforts,  had  been  un 
able  to  keep  up  the  exterior  circulation.  The  disease 
had  advanced  with  frightful  rapidity,  and  Mr.  Lamson 
was  already  undergoing  great  torments.  There  had 
been  frequent  vomitings,  a  dangerous  sinking  of  the 


A   GOOD    MAN'S   DEATH.  2O5 

pulse,  an  excessive  distention  of  the  bowels,  excruciat 
ing  cramps  in  the  arms  and  legs,  and  spasms  of  a  tetanic 
character  were  developing.  His  features  had  assumed 
an  unnatural  sharpness,  but  his  brain  was  clear,  and 
his  mind  collected. 

"You  are  late,"  he  said,  as  Dr.  Wyman  entered  the 
room  with  Richard. 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  answered  the  physician.  "Mr.  Thorn- 
dike  had  difficulty  in  finding  me  ;  but  I  trust  I  am  in 
time." 

"  I  have  my  doubts,"  said  Mr.  Lamson,  "  for  the 
disease  has  got  a  strong  hold  of  me.  However,  we 
shall  know  soon."  This  was  said  with  as  little  ap 
parent  concern  as  he  would  have  shown  in  speaking 
of  an  ordinary  matter. 

I  need  not  indicate  the  successive  steps  of  the  dis 
ease,  nor  the  excruciating  tortures  the  good  man 
endured  while,  for  the  next  five  hours,  the  physician 
battled  with  the  grim  power  that  was  wrenching  soul 
and  body  asunder.  Mr.  Lamson  watched  the  progress 
of  the  struggle,  as  if  solicitous  to  know  what  was  to 
be  its  issue ;  but  his  eye  was  serene,  and  his  mind 
continued  to  be  cool  and  collected.  Doctor  Wyman 
did  all  that  man  could  do,  but  the  deadly  scourge 
refused  to  loosen  its  grip,  and  about  two  hours  after 
midnight,  he  said  in  a  low  tone  to  Richard,  "  No 
skill  of  man  can  save  him.  He  is  beyond  hope.  He 
cannot  hold  out  many  hours  longer.  He  may  have 
business  affairs  to  settle,  and  he  ought  to  know  his 
condition ;  but  I  haven't  the  heart  to  tell  him." 

As  Richard  advanced  to  his   bedside,  Mr.  Lamson 


206  THE   LAST  OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

was  coming  out  of  a  very  severe  spasm.  His  face  was 
bloodless,  and  corpse-like,  livid  circles  were  around 
his  mouth,  his  eyes  were  dull  and  sunken,  his  fingers 
wrinkled  and  sodden,  and  his  hands  withered,  the 
larger  veins  upon  them  a  dull  black,  as  if  filled  with 
coagulated  blood.  He  was  tossing  uneasily  from  side 
to  side,  and  struggling  for  breath,  as  Richard  reached 
out  his  hand  as  if  to  take  his.  "  Don't,  don't,  my 
boy,"  he  said,  "don't,  for  your  life  touch  me." 

The  young  man  bent  over  him,  and  in  broken 
words,  that  were  more  like  sobs  than  articulate  speech, 
said,  "  Oh !  sir,  my  more  than  father — how  can  I  tell 
you?" 

"You  need  not,  my  son — I  know — the  end  has 
come.  It  is  sudden — but  I  am  ready."  These  words 
were  spoken  in  the  hoarse,  broken,  wail-like  whisper, 
which  is  peculiar  to  the  disease. 

"Oh!  Richard,"  cried  Bella,  springing  to  his  side. 
"  Is  father  going  to  die?" 

At  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Lamson  rose  to  her  feet 
and  rushed  forward  as  if  to  grasp  her  husband's  hand, 
but  Richard  held  her  back,  saying,  "  No,  mother, 
don't  for  your  life  touch  him."  Her  head  sank  against 
his  shoulder,  and  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  hysterical  weep 
ing.  There  was  something  like  a  smile  on  Mr.  Lam- 
son's  livid  and  peaked  face  as  he  looked  at  them,  the 
two  strong  arms  of  the  young  man  holding  up  the 
two  half-fainting  women.  "Yes,  my  dears,"  he  said, 
in  the  same  hoarse,  broken  whisper,  "  I  am  about  to 
leave  you — but  do  not  grieve — for  I  am  going  to  the 
Lord  you  all  love." 


A   GOOD   MAN  S   DEATH.  2O7 

Here  he  paused  for  a  few  moments,  struggling  for 
breath,  then,  looking  at  his  wife,  he  said,  "  Rachel,  my 
darling,  we  have  been  a  long  time  together,  and  it  is 
very  hard  to  part — but  be  comforted — it  will  not  be 
for  long.  I  shall  wait  for  you  up  there." 

She  clung  convulsively  to  Richard's  neck,  while 
Isabel's  arms  were  about  his  waist,  and  thus  they  both 
stood,  sobbing  hysterically,  while  the  sick  man  under 
went  another  excruciating  spasm.  When  he  came  out 
of  it,  he  said  to  Richard.  "  My  dear,  dear  boy — please 
get  the  Book,  and  read  me  the  twenty-third  psalm.  It 
will  clear  my  mind,  and  I  have  some  things  to  say  to 
you." 

"  I  can  repeat  it,  sir,"  said  Richard,  and  he  went 
on. 

"  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd  ;  I  shall  not  want. 
He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures ; 
He  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters, 
He  hath  converted  my  soul ; 

He  leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of  righteousness  for  His  name's  sake. 
Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 

I  will  fear  no  evil : 

For  thou  art  with  me  ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff  they  comfort  me. 
Thou  preparest — " 

Here  Mr.  Lamson  interrupted  him  by  saying, 
"  '  Hast  prepared, '  Richard,  for  it  is  past  now." 

"  Thou   hast   prepared  a  table  before   me   in  the  presence  of  mine 

enemies  : 

Thou  anointest  my  head  with  oil ;  my  cup  runneth  over. 
Surely  goodness  and  mercy  have  followed  me  all  the  days  of  my 

life; 
And  I  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  forever." 


208  THE  LAST  OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

When  Richard  had  concluded,  the  good  man  said, 
"  The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation  ;  what  shall 
I  fear?  The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life  ;  of  whom 
shall  I  be  afraid  ?  " 

A  shorter  and  lighter  spasm  now  occurred.  When 
he  came  out  of  it  his  eye  seemed  clearer  than  before, 
and  looking  at  Richard  he  said,  "  Ask  Mr.  Russell 
here;  and  all  of  you  take  seats  near  enough  to  hear 
me — but  not  too  near."  When  this  had  been  done  he 
continued. 

"  Mr.  Russell,"  he  said,  "  I  have  made  no  will  ; 
but  you  and  I  have  been  friends  for  many  years,  and 
I  trust  you  to  see  that  enough  of  my  account  is  to 
morrow  transferred  to  the  credit  of  my  adopted  son 
here — Richard  Thorndike — to  make  his  capital  in  the 
firm  a  million  of  dollars.  As  to  you  and  Mr.  Ketchum, 
you  need  nothing;  but  as  a  token  of  my  love,  I  should 
like  to  have  each  of  you  buy  what  you  would  most 
like,  and  have  it  charged  to  my  estate. 

"  Richard,  the  rest  of  my  property,  wherever  and 
whatever  it  is,  I  leave  to  your  management.  I  wish  it 
to  be  divided  equally  between  Bella  and  her  mother; 
but  enough  to  be  taken  from  its  income  to  give  the 
Compradore  and  Sister  Theresa  about  fifty  thousand 
a  year,  to  expend  upon  the  charities  I  have  established 
here.  That  ought  to  be  enough  to  sustain  them,  for 
several  are  now  self-supporting — but  about  that  you 
must  use  your  discretion." 

Here  his  voice  suddenly  failed,  and  another,  and 
more  severe,  spasm  seized  upon  him.  The  agony  he 
underwent  brought  tears  into  every  eye ;  and  Isabel, 


A   GOOD    MAN'S   DEATH.  »  209 

and  Mrs.  Lamson,  both  clinging  to  Richard,  again 
gave  way  to  hysterical  sobbing.  When  the  spasm  was 
over,  he  resumed  in  the  same  hoarse  whisper,  and 
broken  sentences.  "  Mr.  Russell,  all  of  my  capital  can 
remain  in  the  business,  subject  to  the  direction  and 
management  of  Richard,  the  firm  paying  my  estate 
legal  interest  upon  it  ;  but  the  million  dollars,  which 
now  stands  to  the  credit  of  Isabel  Lamson,  had  better 
be  withdrawn  when  Richard  goes  to  America,  and 
placed  where  it  will  not  be  subject  to  the  contin 
gencies  of  business.  It  will  be  well  for  Richard  to 
have  himself  appointed  executor  of  my  estate." 

At  this  point  another,  and  severer  spasm  than  any 
which  had  preceded  it,  again  broke  the  continuity  of 
his  remarks ;  and  when  he  came  out  of  it  he  lay  for 
a  few  moments  apparently  unable  to  speak.  His 
mind,  too,  seemed  less  clear  than  previously.  "  Where 
was  I  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  Richard. 

"  You  had  directed,  Sir,"  answered  Richard,  "  what 
should  be  done  with  Bella's  money  that  is  now  in  the 
business." 

"  Well,  that  is  about  all,"  he  said,  "  except,  Mr. 
Russell,  let  me  assure  you  that  Richard — my  adopted 
son — has  extraordinary  business  ability.  He  has  initi 
ated  and  carried  through  our  most  successful  opera 
tions  during  the  past  five  years.  If  you  hang  well 
together,  and  give  him  full  swing,  the  house  will  be 
more  successful  than  it  ever  has  been.  So  far  as  my 
interest  goes,  I  wish  him  to  control  it  absolutely. 
Now,  Richard,  take  Bella  by  the  hand,  and  stand 
where  I  can  see  you  clearly." 
14 


210  THE   LAST   OF  THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

They  did  as  he  directed,  and  then  he  said,  "  My 
children,  I  bless  you.  Love  one  another  always." 
Lifting  then  his  eyes  to  Heaven,  he  continued,  "And 
Almighty  Father,  do  thou  bless  them.  Watch  over 
them,  and  bless  them  to  the  end  of  their  days,  and 
bring  them  to  me  at  the  last.  And,  oh !  my  Father, 
bless,  too,  my  beloved  wife,  who  has  been  my  comfort 
and  stay  for  so  many  years.  Comfort  her  oh  !  my 
Father,  and  sustain  her  under  this  sudden  blow." 

He  paused  for  a  few  moments  while  a  convulsive 
shiver,  but  no  actual  spasm,  passed  over  him.  Then 
he  went  on  while  Isabel,  her  mother,  and  Richard, 
stood  near  his  bedside  as  before.  Turning  his  eyes  to 
Richard,  he  said,  "  I  trust  them  to  you,  my  son.  You 
will  love  and  cherish  them  as  I  have  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Richard.  "  As  God  will  be  my  judge, 
I  will  be  to  them  all  that  man  can  be.  Not  for  one 
day  will  I  leave  them  so  long  as  I  live." 

"  It  is  enough — your  word  is  enough,  my  dear  boy. 
Now,  good-by,  all  of  you,  for  I  can't  hold  out  much 
longer — this  agony  is  tearing  me  in  pieces.  Good-by. 
God  bless  you  all." 

In  the  intervals  of  the  spasms  water  had  been 
freely  given  him,  for  he  was  burning  up  with  thirst, 
and  now  he  asked  for  it  again.  When  it  had  been 
given,  he  turned  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  of  the  room, 
and  repeated  these  lines. 

"  Thy  love  has  been  with  me  all  the  way, 
A  pillar  of  cloud  in  the  cloudless  day, 
A  pillar  of  fire  when  gathering  night 
Has  shrouded  in  doubt  my  wavering  sight  ; 


A   GOOD    MAN'S   DEATH.  211 

It  has  guided  my  feet,  wide  wandering  here, 
O'er  arid  wastes  and  deserts  drear  ; 
And  will  lead  me  on,  through  the  parting  wave, 
To  the  Promised  Land  beyond  the  grave." 

He  never  spake  again.  Soon  his  skin  became  icy 
cold,  and  a  clammy  sweat,  exuding  the  peculiar  death- 
odor,'  gathered  on  his  face.  His  cheeks  swelled  out, 
and  shrunk  inward,  with  his  labored  efforts  at  breath 
ing,  and  a  white  froth  gathered  on  his  lips,  oozing 
down  upon  his  livid  chin.  A  fearful  spasm  then 
seized  upon  his  very  vitals  ;  his  pulse,  which  had  been 
growing  feebler  for  several  hours,  ceased  at  the  wrist  ; 
and  the  broken  heavings  of  his  chest  became  feebler 
and  fainter.  Then  there  came  a  quivering  among  the 
tendons  of  his  wrist,  a  long,  weary,  convulsive  gasp, 
and  then,  just  as  the  sun  was  rising  over  the  placid 
sea,  he  passed  from  earth  to  the  country  of  the 
immortals. 

Mark  the  perfect  man,  and  behold  the  upright, 
For  the  end  of  that  man  is  PEACE." 

i 

That  it  might  be  buried  in  his  native  soil,  the  body 
of  Mr.  Lamson  was  temporarily  embalmed  in  a  mix 
ture  of  acetate  and  chloride  of  alumina,  as  is  customary 
in  China ;  and,  being  enclosed  in  a  leaden  coffin,  it  was 
placed  on  board  the  ship  in  which  soon  afterwards 
Richard,  and  the  two  whom  the  good  man  had  so 
solemnly  committed  to  his  care,  took  their  departure 
for  America. 

And  now  I  am  to  take  leave  of  China ;  but  before 
actually  doing  so,  it  may  be  permitted  me  to  say  a  few 


212  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

words  about  its  wonderful  people,  who  comprise 
nearly  one-third  of  the  human  race,  and  differ  as 
widely  from  us  in  civilization,  and  personal  and 
national  characteristics,  as  if  they  had  inherited 
another  nature,  and  been  born  upon  another  planet. 

Mr.  Lamson  had  lived  among  the  Chinese  many 
years,  and  he  knew  them  well,  but  still,  it  may  be 
questioned  if  he  was  not  mistaken  in  supposing  that 
our  Anglo-Saxon  civilization  could  be  ingrafted  upon 
that  great  nation.  With  our  dim  human  vision  it  is 
presumptuous  to  attempt  to  forecast  the  future  of  any 
people ;  but  we  can  use  our  eyes  upon  what  is  going 
on  around  us,  and  if  we  do,  we  shall  scarcely  fail  to 
observe  that  vast  and  vigorous  changes,  whose  natural 
result  will  be  an  uplifting  of  the  masses,  and  a  general 
improvement  of  the  social  system,  are  going  on  all  over 
the  world.  In  China  the  change  may  not  be  an 
American,  or  a  European  change ;  and  it  can  scarcely 
be  expected  that  it  shall  be,  for  the  Chinese  lack 
'our  temperament,  our  traditions,  and  our  ideals.  But 
it  does  not  follow  that  they  will  not  rise,  if  they  fail 
to  climb  by  the  same  ladder  by  which  we  are  ascend 
ing  to  a  higher  civilization.  Looking  abroad  upon 
nature,  we  everywhere  see  that  its  Great  Creator 
delights  in  novelty  and  variety  ;  and  if  no  two  conti 
nents  are  alike  in  physical  features,  climate,  or  even  in 
the  coloring  of  their  skies,  shall  we  insist  upon  it  that 
the  various  races  of  men  shall  all  have  the  same  cus 
toms  and  laws,  and  feel  alike  those  national  impulses 
which  shape  human  society. 

What  is  essential  to  the  upward  progress  of  China, 


A   GOOD    MANS   DEATH.  213 

as  well  as  of  the  rest  of  the  world,  is  Christianity.  And 
by  Christianity  I  mean  a  true  knowledge  of  God — not 
God  as  He  is  being  disclosed  by  Science, — a  blind, 
unthinking  force,  impossible  to  be  fathomed,  and  so, 
termed  the  Unknowable ;  nor  yet  God  as  revealed  by 
Theology,  and  as  fully  analyzed,  and  measured,  as  if 
His  nature  were  level  with  the  human  intellect ;  but 
God  as  He  is  manifested  in  the  life  and  words  of 
Jesus  Christ — a  loving  Father,  ruling  all  worlds,  and 
yet,  watching  over  and  guiding  the  meanest  of  His 
creatures,  and  by  His  ever-acting  providence,  gradually 
uplifting  our  entire  race  to  a  higher  activity,  and 
a  more  perfectly  developed  manhood.  This  knowl 
edge  is  to  be  found  only  within  the  lids  of  the  Bible, 
and  when  it  is  fully  learned  by  us,  and  the  other  races 
of  men,  the  world  will  awake  to  a  new  obedience,  a 
new  integrity,  a  new  love  for  man,  and  a  new  homage 
of  God.  Then  theology  and  science — the  one  know 
ing  too  much,  the  other  too  little — will  both  sit, 
humble  learners,  at  the  feet  of  Christ,  and  find  in 
Him  the  truth  which  is  the  key  to  all  other  truth,  and 
which  harmonizes  and  makes  one  the  whole  creation 
of  God. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE    FIRST   WEEK   IN   AMERICA. 

THE  ship  bearing  the  voyagers  came  to  her  berth  at 
Central  Wharf,  Boston,  one  morning  early  in  March, 
1856,  and  as  soon  as  young  Thorndike  had  given  the 
necessary  directions  about  his  luggage,  he  entered  a 
carriage,  and  was  driven  with  his  lady  companions  to 
the  Revere  House,  in  Bowdoin  Square,  which  had 
been  opened  since  his  departure  for  China.  He  was 
anxious  to  get  speedily  to  New  York,  and  at  this 
hotel  he  thought  he  would  be  unknown,  and  conse 
quently  not  overrun  and  delayed  by  visitors.  He  was, 
however,  in  no  danger  of  general  recognition,  for  his 
changed  habits  and  exposure  to  an  Oriental  sun  had 
greatly  altered  his  personal  appearance.  His  tall  form 
had  filled  out,  his  clear  complexion  was  tanned  to  a 
rich  olive,  his  close-shaven  face  was  garnished  with  a 
full,  flowing  beard,  and  withal  he  had  acquired  the 
unconscious  air  of  command  which  comes  naturally  to 
a  man  who  is  accustomed  to  broad  views,  and  the 
conduct  of  extended  operations.  Even  an  old  friend 
would  have  to  look  more  than  once  to  see  in  him  the 
beardless  stripling  who  only  six  years  previously  had 
set  sail  from  Boston  for  the  Antipodes. 


THE   FIRST   WEEK   IN   AMERICA.  215 

Having  telegraphed  his  arrival  to  Mr.  Ketchum,  his 
New  York  partner,  he  left  Mrs.  Lamson  and  Isabel  to 
recruit  awhile  at  the  hotel,  and  sallied  forth  for  a  walk 
to  the  office  of  Henshaw  &  Co.  He  met  a  number  of 
acquaintances  as  he  passed  along  the  streets,  but 
though  several  regarded  him  curiously,  none  recog 
nized  him,  not  even  when  he  reached  the  familiar 
Long  Wharf,  and  turned  in  at  the  warehouse  of  Hen 
shaw  &  Co.  Ascending  to  the  second  floor,  and  enter 
ing  the  general  office,  he  inquired  of  the  lad  in  wait 
ing  if  Mr.  Henshaw  was  in,  and  disengaged.  "  He 
is  in,  Sir,"  answered  the  lad,  "  and  I  think  not  par 
ticularly  engaged.  Shall  I  take  your  name  in  to  him, 
Sir?" 

"  No,  never  mind,"  said  Richard,  opening  a  near-by 
door,  on  which  in  gilt  letters  was  the  word,  "  Private." 
Mr.  Henshaw  was  seated  at  his  desk,  and  after  the 
custom  of  most  merchants,  paid  no  attention  to  his 
visitor  until  he  had  finished  the  sentence  he  was  writ 
ing.  Then  he  looked  up  and  cast  his  eye  upon 
Richard,  saying  merely,  "Good  morning,  Sir." 

"  I  see,  Mr.  Henshaw,  that  you  don't  recognize 
me — Dick — Dick  Thorndike." 

"What,  Dick!  My  own  boy  Dick!"  cried  Mr. 
Henshaw,  springing  to  his  feet,  and  seizing  Richard 
by  both  hands.  Other  expressions  of  surprise  and 
congratulation  escaped  him,  and  then,  stepping  to  the 
office  door,  he  said  to  the  lad,  "Tell  all  the  partners 
that  Dick  Thorndike  is  here,  just  in  from  China." 
Then  turning  to  Richard,  he  remarked,  "Now,  sit 
down,  Dick,  and  tell  me  all  about  yourself.  We  heard 


2l6  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

by  the  last  Cunarder  that  Mr.  Lamson  was  dead,  and 
you  were  coming  to  New  York." 

The  three  junior  partners  had  by  this  time  entered 
the  room,  and  such  profuse  greetings  and  congratula 
tions  followed  that  it  was  several  minutes  before 
Richard  could  explain  that  he  could  remain  in  Boston 
only  a  day  or  two — just  long  enough  to  arrange  the 
burial  of  Mr.  Lamson's  remains  in  the  Thorndike  lot 
at  Dorchester.  Thereupon,  Mr.  Henshaw  insisted 
upon  himself  attending  to  all  the  necessary  prelimi 
naries,  as  soon  as  he  had  paid  his  respects  to  Mrs. 
Lamson  and  her  daughter.  To  this  Richard  assented, 
because  it  would  allow  him  time  to  visit  the  old  home 
stead  previous  to  the  funeral,  which  it  was  decided 
should  take  place  at  one  o'clock  on  the  following 
afternoon.  Afterwards  the  ladies  could  secure  a  good 
night's  rest,  and  be  able  to  set  out  for  New  York  on 
the  succeeding  morning. 

Mr.  Henshaw's  visit  being  over,  Richard  suggested 
to  his  companions  that  they  should  rest  themselves  in 
their  room  while  he  made  a  visit  to  his  old  home. 
"  No,  Richard,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson,  "  we  are  not  at  all 
fatigued,  and  we  want  to  see  every  place,  and  know 
everybody  you  ever  knew — that  is,  if  they  are  all  as 
agreeable  people  as  Mr.  Henshaw." 

After  a  light  lunch,  they  set  out,  and  were  driven 
rapidly  to  the  old  homestead  of  the  Thorndikes.  As 
they  passed  the  Wilder  mansion  Richard  pointed  it 
out  to  his  companions,  saying,  "  Mr.  Henshaw  tells 
me  that  Mrs.  Wilder  has  had  a  sad  history.  After  he 
married  her,  Cravan  plunged  into  the  wildest  specula- 


THE    FIRST  WEEK   IN   AMERICA.  217 

tions,  and  about  three  years  ago  committed  suicide. 
Then  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  lost  all  his  wife's 
property.  He  hears  that  she  is  living  now  somewhere 
in  New  York  in  the  greatest  poverty.  My  uncle  pre 
dicted  some  such  result  from  her  marriage  with 
Cravan." 

A  few  moments  more  brought  them  to  the  Thorn- 
dike  homestead-  Richard  had  not  expected  that  six 
years  would  make  any  material  change  in  its  venerable 
aspect,  but  he  was  surprised  to  see  the  grounds  about 
it  in  admirable  order — as  well-kept  as  when  the  place 
was  occupied  by  its  owner.  Alighting  at  the  gate,  he 
walked  with  the  ladies  up  the  gravelled  path,  and 
lifting  the  old-fashioned  brass-knocker,  inquired  for 
the  lady  of  the  house.  She  soon  appeared,  and  on 
being  told  who  he  was,  invited  them  into  the  mansion. 

They  roamed  through  its  various  rooms — into  the 
library  where  were  his  uncle's  books,  his  writing-table, 
his  lounge,  and  high-backed  chair;  and  then  they 
ascended  to  the  chamber  where  he  died,  and  where 
was  his  bed,  just  as  he  had  been  borne  away  from  it ; 
and  then  they  went  into  Richard's  own  bedroom, 
where  they  saw  his  low  iron  bedstead,  and  on  the 
mantle-shelf  a  copy  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  which  he  had 
thumbed  when  a  boy.  Everything  was  in  its  old 
place,  and  nothing  was  changed,  except  that  glass- 
doors  had  been  added  to  the  book-shelves  to  preserve 
the  books,  and  the  dog  Ponto,  and  the  affectionate 
kittens,  had  taken  their  departure.  "  We  have  occu 
pied  the  house,"  said  the  lady  to  Richard,  "  ever  since 
the  month  following  your  uncle's  death,  and  Mr. 


218  THE   LAST   OF  THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

Henshaw  made  it  a  condition  in  our  lease  that  every 
thing  should  be  kept  as  it  was,  for  he  said  you  would 
some  day  come  back,  and  it  would  gratify  you  to  see 
the  old  place  as  it  was  in  your  boyhood.  He  comes 
here  regularly  once  a  month  to  look  after  it  per 
sonally." 

They  then  went  out  into  the  garden,  where,  also, 
Richard  found  everything  in  its  former  condition.  In 
the  summer-house  were  his  uncle's  reclining  chair,  and 
a  rustic  lounge,  on  which  he  had  often  rested ;  and 
leading  Mrs.  Lamson  to  the  lounge  and  Isabel  to  the 
chair,  he  seated  himself  upon  his  own  camp-stool,  and 
said  to  them,  "  How  do  you  like  the  old  place?" 

"  It  has  a  very  quiet  atmosphere,"  said  Isabel.  "  I 
never  was  in  a  place  so  restful,  and  so  homelike." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  feel,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson. 
"  If  you  were  only  out  of  the  business,  and  we  here 
together,  we  might  easier  bear  our  heavy  sorrow." 

"  We  might  be  here  in  the  summer,  mother," 
answered  Richard.  "  You  can't  remain  in  New  York 
through  the  hot  season,  and  neither  you  nor  Bella 
would  enjoy  the  whirl  at  Newport  or  Saratoga.  Shall 
we  not  come  here  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  delightful,"  answered  both  in  a 
breath  ;  "but,"  added  Bella,  "  perhaps  the  tenant  has 
a  lease." 

"  I  will  inquire  as  we  return,"  said  Richard,  "  and 
when  you  are  rested  I  will  show  you  where  Father's 
remains  will  be  laid  to-morrow." 

The  lady  of  the  house  came  to  the  door  to  bid 
them  "Good-by,"  and  Richard  inquired  of  her  about 


THE   FIRST   WEEK   IN  AMERICA.  219 

the  lease.  It  had  expired  several  months  before,  and 
they  were  then  tenants  at  will.  Informing  her  that 
he  would  like  possession  by  the  first  of  July,  he  then 
conducted  his  companions  to  the  carriage. 

Alighting  at  the  church,  they  entered  the  old  grave 
yard.  A  score  of  children,  out  on  recess  from  a  neigh 
boring  school,  were  gambolling  among  the  moss- 
grown  stones,  and  one  of  them,  older  than  the  rest, 
was  spelling  out  to  a  much  younger  child  the  inscrip 
tion  on  a  weather-stained  marble  pillar,  near  the  main 
entrance.  Pausing  before  it,  Richard  read  to  his  com 
panions  the  words. 

SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF 

ROBERT    THORNDIKE, 

WHO  DEPARTED  THIS  LIFE 

AUGUST  10,  1849, 

AGED  57  YEARS. 

THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  JUST 

Is  BLESSED. 

Tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he  turned,  and  said  to 
them,  "  They  know  and  love  each  other  now,  and  it 
will  comfort  them  if  their  bodies  lie  side  by  side.  It 
may  be  that  they  are  looking  down  upon  us  at  this 
moment," 

"  If  they  are,  they  know  what  a  faithful  son  and 
nephew  you  are,  Richard,"  said  Isabel,  placing  her 
arm  within  his,  and  drawing  very  near  to  him,  "  and, 
dear,  will  it  not  be  joyous  when  we  are  all  with 
them,  never  to  be  separated  ?  " 

They   took   lodgings    in   New  York  at   an  uptown 


22O  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

hotel,  till  such  time  as  they  could  find  a  suitable  per 
manent  residence ;  and  Richard  left  the  ladies  much 
to  themselves  during  the  first  fortnight  after  their 
arrival,  it  being  necessary  that  he  should  familiarize 
himself  with  the  general  outlines  of  the  New  York 
business  at  as  early  a  period  as  possible.  All  details, 
were,  and  had  been  for  twenty  years,  in  the  hands  of 
Mr.  Ketchum  the  resident  partner,  and  an  aged  book 
keeper,  who  was  an  heir-loom  of  the  establishment. 
Meanwhile,  he  employed  a  house-broker  to  wait  upon 
Isabel  and  her  mother  whenever  they  felt  inclined  to 
go  upon  a  house-hunting  expedition. 

The  young  man  had  been  thus  engaged  something 
less  than  a  week  when,  one  day  near  the  middle  of 
March,  as  he  sat  alone  in  the  private  room  which,  a 
year  before,  had  been  vacated  by  Mr.  Russell,  a 
visitor's  card  was  handed  in  to  him,  bearing  upon  it 
the  names,  "Samuel  Suydam  and  lady."  "What  is 
their  business?"  he  asked  the  office-boy. 

"They  decline  to  give  it,  Sir,"  answered  the  lad. 
"They  say,  Sir,  they  want  to  see  you  a  few  moments 
personally." 

"  Very  well ;  show  them  in,"  said  Richard. 

Mr.  Suydam  was  a  middle-aged  person,  of  respect 
able  appearance  ;  his  lady  companion  seemed  con 
siderably  older,  and  something  about  her  at  once 
arrested  Richard's  attention.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
shabby-genteel  black  gown,  and  a  faded  black  silk 
bonnet,  and  she  had  the  air  of  strained  dignity  that 
is  sometimes  seen  in  persons  who  have  been  reduced 
from  affluence  to  poverty.  Her  form  was  somewhat 


THE   FIRST   WEEK    IN   AMERICA.  221 

bent,  one  shoulder  being  lower  than  the  other  as  if 
drawn  down  by  rheumatism,  and  she  walked  with  dif 
ficulty,  being  supported  on  one  side  by  her  compan 
ion,  on  the  other  by  a  stout  cane,  on  which  she 
leaned  heavily.  Her  hair,  which  was  arranged  in 
peculiar  puffs  across  her  forehead,  was  deeply  gray, 
her  face,  seamed  and  withered,  and  underneath  her 
preternaturally  brilliant  eyes  were  deep,  black  lines, 
denoting  recent  illness,  or  intense  mental  trouble.  As 
she  took  one  of  the  seats  to  which  Richard  invited 
them,  he  observed  that  her  left  hand  was  shrunken, 
and  apparently  useless. 

The  gentleman  was  the  first  to  speak.  Before  tak 
ing  the  proffered  chair,  he  handed  to  Richard  a  card, 
saying,  "  My  name,  sir,  is  Suydam,  Attorney  and 
Counsellor  at  Law,  and  we  have  intruded  upon  you  to 
ask  for  some  important  information.  This  lady,  I 
believe,  is  an  old  acquaintance  of  yours — Mrs.  Cra- 
van." 

"Cravan?"  echoed  Richard,  not  at  once  recalling 
the  name.  Then  suddenly  it  occurred  to  him,  and  he 
exclaimed,  "  Can  it  be  possible  !  Mrs.  Wilder,"  at  the 
same  time  rising  and  grasping  her  hand,  cordially. 

"  I  was  Mrs.  Wilder,"  she  replied,  taking  his  ex 
tended  hand,  and  retaining  it  in  hers.  "  I  have  since 
been  Mrs.  Cravan,  and  I  am  now  the  poor  wreck  you 
see  me.  But,  you  are  the  same  noble-hearted  Rich 
ard.  I  never  treated  you  justly,  Richard ;  but  you — 
you  bear  no  malice."  This  was  spoken  in  the  half- 
plaintive,  half-querulous  tone  which  sometimes  accom 
panies  chronic  illness,  or  evil  temper. 


222  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  Malice  !  Madam,"  he  said,  "  I  never  had  any  ;  and 
if  I  ever  considered  you  not  entirely  just,  all  unkind 
thoughts  were  long  ago  buried  in  Lottie's  grave." 

She  drew  a  deep  sigh,  as  if  he  had  touched  a  chord 
that  vibrated  painfully,  and  then  said  in  the  same 
complaining  tone  :  "  It  is  very  noble  in  you,  Richard  ; 
I  felt  sure  you  would  feel  kindly  towards  me,  or  I 
would  not  have  intruded  upon  you." 

"  It  is  no  intrusion,  Madam,"  he  replied.  "  Let  me 
know  in  what  way  I  can  serve  you.  I  shall  esteem  it 
a  privilege  to  do  anything  in  my  power  for  you." 

He  had  drawn  his  chair  nearer  to  where  she  was 
seated,  and  both  his  tone  and  manner  told  her  that  he 
had  spoken  sincerely.  She  looked  pointedly  at  the 
lawyer,  who  said  promptly,  "  You  had  better  state 
the  case,  Madam." 

Then  Mrs.  Craven  proceeded  to  say  in  the  direct, 
business-like  manner  which  the  young  man  well 
remembered,  "  My  maiden  name,  Richard,  was 
Pritchett,  and  I  had  a  brother — James  Pritchett — 
whom  you  never  knew,  because  he  went  away  from 
home  when  you  were  but  an  infant.  We  did  not  hear 
from  him,  and  did  not  know  what  had  become  of 
him,  for  many  years.  Then  a  letter  came  from  him 
enclosing  some  money  which  my  husband  had  loaned 
him  ;  but  it  didn't  come  to  us  :  it  came  to  your  uncle, 
and  it  gave  no  information  about  him,  beyond  the 
mere  fact  that  he  was  then  in  Hong  Kong,  China. 
That  was  more  than  a  dozen  years  ago,  and  since 
then  we  have  heard  nothing  of  him,  till  a  very  few 
days  since,  when  a  gentleman  from  London  came  to 


THE    FIRST    WEEK    IN   AMERICA.  223 

me  saying  that  he  had  recently  died,  leaving  a  large 
estate,  and  a  legacy  to  me  of  three  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  The  gentleman  represented  that  he  had  for 
twenty-five  years  been  on  intimate  terms  with  my 
brother,  and  was  himself  a  legatee  under  his  will  for 
ten  thousand  pounds.  These  statements  he  confirmed 
by  a  copy  of  the  will  which  he  left  with  me,  and  he 
desired  me  to  empower  him  to  collect  my  legacy.  I 
hesitated  because  I  was  not  favorably  impressed  with 
his  appearance,  and  my  distrust  was  increased  when 
he  said  that  if  I  would  join  him  and  divide  the  avails 
with  him,  he  would  proceed  to  break  the  will,  where 
by  all  the  property  would  come  to  me — I  being  the 
only  legal  heir — and  I  should  realize  a  sum  much 
larger  than  the  legacy.  I  am  very  poor,  and  the 
temptation  was  strong  to  grasp  at  any  straw,  but  I 
asked  him  to  call  upon  me  on  the  following  day.  In 
the  meanwhile  I  sought  the  advice  of  my  friend  here, 
Mr.  Suydam.  He  had  just  heard  of  your  arrival  from 
Hong  Kong,  and  he  suggested  that  I  should  see  you, 
as  you  might  have  known  my  brother,  and  could  tell 
us  where  he  had  died,  which,  if  we  knew,  we  could 
ourselves  collect  the  legacy." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  say  it,  Mrs.  Wilder,"  said  Rich 
ard,  "  but  I  did  not  know  your  brother.  No  person 
of  his  name  has  lived  or  died  in  Hong  Kong  during 
the  past  six  years." 

"  But  I  infer  from  some  incidental  remarks  of  the 
gentleman,"  answered  Mrs.  Cravan,  "  that  my  brother 
did  not  pass  by  his  right  name.  He  has  carefully  left 
out  all  essential  things  from  the  copy  of  the  will  he 


224  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

gave  me,  but  perhaps  if  you  should  look  at  it,  it  might 
afford  you  some  clew  to  what  we  need  to  know." 

Opening  then  her  reticule,  she  handed  him  a  folded 
paper,  which  he  had  no  sooner  glanced  at  than  he 
said,  "  This  will  was  never  executed  in  Hong  Kong." 
As  he  read  on  his  face  brightened,  and  he  asked, 
"  Did  the  gentleman  give  you  his  name  ?  " 

"Yes,  Richard,"  she  replied,  "  Shepherd — Chauncey 
Shepherd." 

"  A  paragraph  here  discloses  the  whole,  Mrs.  Wil 
der,"  said  Richard.  "  I  knew  your  brother,  and  I  can 
help  you  to  get  your  rights." 

"That  is  spoken  like  you,  Richard,"  she  said,  beam 
ing  on  him  with  a  look  of  maternal  affection.  "  Which 
paragraph  is  it,  Richard  ?  " 

"This  one,"  he  answered,  proceeding  to  read.  "  I 
direct  that  out  of  my  funds  in  the  house  of  -  — , 

the  sum  of  ten  thousand  pounds  shall  be  paid  to  my 
friend)  Chauncey  Shepherd,  in  full  requital  for  a  like 
sum  which  he  loaned  to  me  when  I  first  embarked  in 
the  China  trade :  and  I  direct  that  no  interest  shall  be 
allowed  said  Shepherd,  on  said  sum,  except  from  and 
after  the  date  of  my  death,  he  having  received  from 
me  during  the  past  twenty  years  a  quarterly  payment 
which  has  been  equal  to  four  times  the  legal  interest 
on  ten  thousand  pounds." 

'  This  Shepherd,  Mrs.  Wilder,"  said  Richard,  "  is  a 
worthless  fellow,  and  I  never  could  understand  why 
your  brother,  a  shrewd  business  man,  tolerated  such  a 
character;  but  this  paragraph  explains  it.  Your 
brother  went  by  the  name  of  James  P.  Alger,  and  he 


THE   FIRST   WEEK    IN    AMERICA.  225 

was  senior  partner  in  the  house  of  Alger,  Timpson  & 
Co.,  of  London  and  Hong  Kong.  He  probably  died 
at,  or  near,  London,  but  I  had  not  heard  of  his  death 
when  I  left  China." 

"Then  you  think  the  legacy  can  be  realized  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Cravan,  her  face  assuming  some  of  its  old-time 
composure. 

"  I  do,  most  decidedly,"  he  answered,  "  Mr.  Alger 
was  probably  worth  from  one  to  two  millions,  and  you 
are  the  second  legatee  under  the  will.  First  is  Shep 
herd's  ten  thousand  pounds,  then  three  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  to  you,  and  one  hundred  thousand  to 
Charlotte — poor  girl —  then  the  rest  and  residue  of  his 
interest  in  Alger,  Timpson  &  Co.,  and  all  his  real  estate 
in  China — which  is  not  less  than  half  a  million — go  to 
his  reputed  wife  and  daughter." 

"  Then  the  lady  will  be  well  provided  for,"  said 
Mrs.  Cravan,  "  she  will  probably  have  a  million  !  Do 
you  know,  Richard,  where  she  lives?  " 

"  She  did  live,  some  years  ago,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  London.  Your  brother  gave  her  name — Georgiana 
Alger — to  his  finest  ship.  I  am  told  that  she  is  a  most 
estimable  lady." 

"And  what  course  would  you  advise  us  to  take, 
Richard  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Cravan. 

"  Send  a  trusty  lawyer  to  London  at  once  to  attend 
to  the  business,  and  ignore  that  man  Shepherd  alto 
gether.  His  dishonorable  proposal  to  you  shows  he 
is  not  to  be  trusted." 

"  But,  we  have  no  money  for  such  expenses,"  said 
Mrs.  Cravan.  "  I  am  very  poor — not  able  even  to  pay 
15 


226  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

my  board,  and  my  friend,  Mr.  Suydam,  has  not  the 
necessary  means  now  at  command.  It  will  be  a  con 
siderable  sum." 

"  Don't  let  that  trouble  you,"  said  Richard.  "  If 
Mr.  Suydam  will  call  upon  me  within  an  hour  I  will 
talk  over  with  him  such  details." 

She  leaned  forward  and  clutched  his  hand,  and  with 
a  voice  husky  with  real,  or  pretended,  emotion,  said, 
"  Oh !  dear  Richard,  how  can  I  ever  pay  you  for  such 
kindness  ?" 

"You  are  Charlotte's  mother,"  he  said,  earnestly. 
"  I  should  do  this,  and  much  more  than  this,  for  her 
sake,  if  not  for  your  own  ;  and  I  am  very  glad  that  old 
age  is  not  to  find  you  both  infirm  and  penniless." 

The  two  visitors  soon  afterwards  took  their  depart 
ure;  but  Mr.  Suydam  returned  at  the  time  appointed. 
When  he  had  seated  himself,  Richard  said  to  him, 
"  Tell  me  about  Mrs.  Wilder — Cravan,  I  mean.  I 
hear  that  her  husband  shot  himself." 

"It  was  so,"  replied  Mr.  Suydam,  with  evident 
hesitation. 

"  Speak  frankly,  Sir,  if  you  please,"  said  Richard, 
"  I  am,  as  you  see,  disposed  to  befriend  Mrs.  Cravan, 
and  my  reasons  for  doing  so  are  entirely  independent 
of  her  own  worthiness.  If  she  were  the  worst  of 
criminals,  it  would  not  affect  my  disposition  to  serve 
her." 

"  Then,  as  it  can't  injure  her,  I  will  be  frank  with 
you,  Mr.  Thorndike,"  said  Mr.  Suydam,  with  a  sort  of 
holier-than-thou  manner.  "  And  besides,  Sir,  I  really 
would  not  like  to  have  you  take  hold  of  this  matter, 


THE    FIRST    WEEK   IN   AMERICA.  22/ 

without  a  full  knowledge  of  all  the  facts  known  to  me. 
I  knew  Cravan  well.  I  was  his  attorney.  He  was  not 
a  bad  man  at  heart,  but  of  sanguine  temper  and  weak 
judgment.  He  speculated  with  his  wife's  money,  and 
was  unfortunate.  When  reverses  came  she  grew  em 
bittered,  and  led  him,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  terrible  life. 
At  last  he  made  a  desperate  throw  and  lost ;  and  then, 
goaded  to  madness  by  her  reproaches,  he  drew  his 
revolver  and  shot  himself  dead  at  her  feet.  He  left 
nothing  but  debts,  and  she  was  penniless;  and  the 
means  she  resorted  to  for  a  livelihood  were  not  very 
creditable." 

"  What  were  the  means?  "  asked  Richard. 

"  She  hit  upon  the  plan  of  taking  leases  of  furnished 
houses,  buying  the  furniture,  and  agreeing  to  pay  for 
it  in  instalments,  representing  that  she  intended  to 
take  boarders.  She  succeeded  in  doing  this  by  refer 
ring  to  some  of  her  well-to-do  friends,  of  whom  she 
had  a  considerable  number,  for  as  long  as  their  money 
lasted  she  and  Cravan  had  moved  in  good  society. 
As  soon  as  the  bargain  was  closed,  and  she  had  entered 
upon  possession,  she  sent  the  furniture  to  auction,  and 
when  the  month's  rent  became  due,  the  owner  found 
himself  with  neither  tenant  nor  furniture. 

"  When  she  had  been  successful  in  three  or  four 
moderate  transactions,  she  was  emboldened  to  aim  at 
higher  game.  She  took  a  lease,  and  bought  the  fur 
niture  of  a  first-class  house,  but  unluckily  gave  a 
mortgage  back  upon  the  furniture  for  about  half  the 
purchase  money.  She  was  under  the  mistaken  notion 
that  the  mortgage  would  not  hold  until  it  was  re- 


228  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

corded,  and  she  had  the  record  office  watched,  intend 
ing  to  stop  the  sale  of  the  furniture  she  had  sent  to 
auction,  the  moment  the  mortgage  went  upon  the 
books,  and  thus  escape  criminal  prosecution.  She 
succeeded  in  getting  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  into  her 
pocket,  but  the  owner  proceeded  against  her  for  fraud, 
and  I  saved  her  from  Sing  Sing  by  paying  the  amount 
of  the  mortgage.  This  was  more  than  the  furniture 
had  sold  for,  and  it  took  all  she  had  left  from  the 
previous  transactions  to  make  up  the  deficiency. 
That  occurred  six  months  ago.  Since  then  she  has 
been  living  on  the  charity  of  a  hotel  proprietor,  whose 
wife,  I  am  told,  was  a  friend  of  her  school-days. 
Now,  she  informs  me,  that  they  intimated  to  her  this 
very  morning  that  she  must  look  out  for  other 
quarters." 

"  Poor  woman  !  "  said  Richard ;  "  but  this  legacy 
will  set  her  right.  In  the  meanwhile  she  must  have  a 
home.  Will  you  take  to  her  my  check  for  a  thousand 
dollars  ?  " 

"  I  think,  Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Suydam,  "  it  would  not 
be  well  to  allow  her  so  much  money  at  once.  She  is 
inclined  to  be  improvident.  I  would  suggest  not  more 
than  five  hundred." 

"Very  well,"  said  Richard,  proceeding  to  write  a 
check.  "  And  if  she  hesitates  to  accept  of  this,  please 
say  that  I  hope  she  will  out  of  the  love  she  bore  to 
Charlotte,  and  that  she  must  not  fail  to  call  upon  me 
in  any  further  emergency.  Do  you  know,  Sir,  where 
her  daughter  was  buried  ?  " 


THE    FIRST   WEEK    IN   AMERICA.  22Q 

"  I  did  not  know  that  she  had  a  daughter,  Mr. 
Thorndike.  I  never  heard  her  speak  of  one." 

"  How  long  have  you  known  her?  "  asked  Richard. 

"  Only  since  her  husband's  death,"  answered  Mr. 
Suydam. 

"  That  accounts  for  it.  To  make  these  inquiries  is 
why  I  desired  you  to  call  on  me  a  second  time. 
The  remainder  of  our  business  is  very  simple.  The 
steamer  sails  a  week  from  to-day.  On  the  day  preced 
ing,  be  good  enough  to  call  on  me  for  your  expenses 
out,  and  for  a  letter  of  credit  on  our  London  corre 
spondents  for  whatever  you  may  need  to  expend  on 
this  business  in  London." 

On  his  entering  Mrs.  Lamson's  room  on  his  return 
to  his  hotel,  Richard  was  told  by  Isabel  that  the  real- 
estate  agent  had  a  half-hour  before  left  with  them  the 
description  of  a  house,  furnished  from  top  to  bottom, 
which  both  she  and  her  mother  thought  would  meet 
their  requirements.  The  owner  was  going  to  reside  in 
Europe,  and  would  sell  the  entire  establishment — 
horses,  carriages  and  all — for  a  reasonable  sum.  They 
had  appointed  with  the  agent  to  go  with  him  to  ex 
amine  it  in  the  morning,  and,  if  it  should  suit  them, 
they  would  come  at  once  to  the  office  and  take  Rich 
ard  to  see  it.  Isabel  hoped  it  would  suit,  for  her 
mother  was  tired  of  hotel  life,  and  much  desired  to  be 
again  in  a  home  of  her  own. 

In  the  evening  Richard  detailed  to  Mrs.  Lamson 
and  Isabel  the  interview  with  Mrs.  Wilder,  and  the 
history  of  James  Pritchett,  alias  James  P.  Alger,  be- 


230  THE   LAST   OF  THE  THORNDIKES. 

ginning  with  the  episode  in  his  early  career  which  had 
been  years  before  related  to  him  by  his  uncle. 
"What  a  change!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lamson,  "one 
day  actually  homeless,  the  next  in  possession  of  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars  !  " 

"  But  what  a  woman,  Mother !  "  exclaimed  Isabel. 
"  Guilty  of  fraud,  and  in  danger  of  State's  prison ! 
You  did  right  in  sending  her  the  money,  for  she  might 
have  committed  some  worse  crime.  The  London 
lady  is,  of  course,  the  one  whose  picture  we  saw  at  the 
Compradore's.  I  am  rejoiced  that  she  is  to  be  made 
comfortable,  but  no  amount  of  money  can  be  com 
pensation  for  the  wrong  she  has  suffered." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   REVEREND   MR.    SHEPHERD. 

As  Richard  was  poring  over  the  accounts  of  the 
New  York  house,  about  noon  on  the  following  day, 
Mr.  Ketchum  entered  his  room  ushering  in  Isabel  and 
Mrs.  Lamson.  "Mr.  Thorndike,"  he  said,  "I  have 
brought  you  some  visitors  of  a  character  not  often 
seen  in  our  dingy  quarters." 

"  Unprofitable  visitors,  Richard,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson, 
seating  herself  by  the  bright,  cannel-coal  fire,  "  for,  if 
you  like  the  house,  we  shall  ask  you  for  a  good  deal  of 
money." 

'"Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive,'"  answered  Richard, 
smiling.  "  But,  take  a  seat,  Mr.  Ketchum,  I  want 
you  to  know  these  ladies  better.  Then  the  house 
suits  you,  Mother?" 

"It  does,  dear,"  she  replied,  "and  it's  all  ready  for 
occupation.  Now,  we  want  you  to  see  it." 

"  I  don't  care  to,"  he  said,  "  it  is  enough  if  it  suits 
you  and  Bella." 

"  It  is  precisely  what  we  want,"  replied  Isabel,  "  and 
I  think  it  will  suit  you,  for  it  has  a  fine  library,  filled 
with  choice  books,  and,  adjoining  the  library,  a  small 
study  just  like  our  little  room  at  Hong  Kong.  But 
you  must  see  it.  How  soon  can  you  go  with  us?" 


232  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  Not,  I  fear,  in  less  than  an  hour,  as  I  am  expect 
ing  Judge  Ellsworth  here  on  that  Alger  business.  Mr. 
Ketchum,  there  is  too  much  involved  in  that  matter 
to  trust  it  altogether  to  a  stranger,  like  Suydam." 

"But  our  own  lawyers,  Mr.  Thorndike,"  said  Mr. 
Ketchum,  "  are  in  the  same  building  with  the  Judge." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  their  sign,"  answered  Richard  ;  "  but  I 
don't  know  them  ;  and  this  affair  needs  to  be  handled 
by  a  man  whose  integrity  cannot  be  corrupted." 

"Then  you  know  Judge  Ellsworth  ?"  remarked  Mr. 
Ketchum. 

"  I  never  met  him  till  this  morning ;  "  said  Richard, 
"  but  I  know  he  has  sacrificed  friends,  property,  and 
position,  for  what  he  thinks  the  truth,  and  such  a  man 
is  to  be  trusted." 

"Then,  Richard,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson,  "if  you  can't 
go  with  us  in  less  than  an  hour,  you'll  let  us  wait  here 
—for  I'm  a  little  tired." 

"  Certainly,  Mother  ;  "  he  replied,  "  and  how  stupid 
I've  been  not  to  think  of  it.  You  must  lie  down. 
Come  into  the  other  room  where  there's  a  lounge. 
I've  a  blanket-shawl  that  I'll  throw  over  you.  Mr. 
Ketchum  won't  mind.  She  has  been  going  about  a 
good  deal ;  and  ten  miles  through  these  streets  are 
worse  than  a  voyage  to  China." 

They  passed  into  an  inner  apartment,  somewhat 
smaller  than  the  other,  but  furnished  in  a  more  home 
like  manner,  with  a  lounge,  several  easy  chairs,  and,  in 
one  corner,  a  secretary  on  which  were  a  few  books. 
The  morning  was  chilly,  but  a  bright  fire  in  the  grate 
gave  the  room  a  pleasant  temperature.  When  Rich- 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       233 

ard  had  placed  Mrs.  Lamson  upon  the  lounge,  with  a 
sofa  pillow  under  her  head,  and  a  blanket-shawl  over 
her,  she  said  to  Mr.  Ketchum,  "  Ah  !  Mr.  Ketchum, 
you  don't  know  what  a  loving  son  he  is  to  me.  He 
was  always  most  kind  and  considerate,  but  since  my 
husband  died  he  seems  to  think  of  nothing  in  the 
world  but  Bella  and  me.  I  loved  him  at  first  sight, 
and  ever  since  I  have  loved  him  better  and  better 
every  day." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  it,  Madam,"  said  Mr. 
Ketchum.  "  We  have  not  known  him  ten  days  yet ; 
but  we  begin  to  see  why  you  are  so  much  attached 
to  him." 

"  In  China,  Mr.  Ketchum  "  said  Richard,  "  we  have 
a  way  of  plain  speaking ;  but  I  didn't  know  it  had 
become  the  fashion  in  America.  However,  if  Mother 
and  you  desire  to  discuss  me,  Bella  and  I  will  step 
into  the  other  room." 

Mr.  Ketchum  merely  smiled,  but  Mrs.  Lamson  said, 
quickly.  "  No,  no  !  don't  go.  I'll  change  the  sub 
ject.  Mr.  Ketchum,  my  husband  thought  a  great 
deal  of  you." 

"  I  thought  a  great  deal  of  him,  Madam, — I  loved 
him,"  said  Mr.  Ketchum.  "  He  took  me  a  poor, 
fatherless  boy ;  paid  me  a  good  deal  more  than  the 
customary  salary,  to  enable  me  to  support  myself; 
and  when  I  was  twenty-one,  he  made  me  his  partner 
— I  not  having  a  dollar.  One  of  the  last  things  he  did 
was  to  increase  my  interest  in  the  firm.  He  was  like 
a  father  to  me,  Madam." 

"  So  he  was  to  everyone,"  said   Mrs.  Lamson,  "  par- 


234  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

ticularly  to  those  who  had  no  father.  His  greatest 
pleasure  was  to  help  others  to  help  themselves.  Do 
you  know  that  the  only  misgiving  he  had  about  plac 
ing  Richard  at  the  head  of  the  house,  arose  from  a 

o 

fear  that  you  might  feel  hurt  at  a  younger  man  being 
put  over  you.  He  knew  Richard,  or  he  never  would 
have  done  it." 

"To  be  entirely  frank,  Mrs.  Lamson,"  said  Mr. 
Ketchum,  "  I  did  feel  a  little  that  way  when  word  first 
came  for  Mr.  Russell  to  go  to  China.  But  when  I 
reflected  upon  what  your  husband  was,  the  feeling 
wore  away,  and  it  entirely  disappeared  before  I  had 
known  Mr.  Thorndike  three  days." 

"  I  see,  Mr.  Ketchum,"  said  Richard,  rising,  "that 
you  and  mother  are  determined  to  talk  Chinese,  so, 
Miss  Lamson  and  I  will  retire.  We  have  a  little  bus 
iness  together.  Come  Bella." 

They  passed  into  the  outer  office,  and  placing  a 
chair  for  her  near  to  his  own,  Richard  said,  "  Bella, 
dear,  had  I  not  better  send  our  own  lawyer  to  London 
to  attend  to  that  matter  of  the  Alger  will?  I  don't 
exactly  like  Suydam's  appearance ;  and  I  have  been 
thinking  over  the  remark  that  Mrs.  Wilder  made 
about  Shepherd — that  if  she  were  to  join  him,  he  could 
break  the  will,  and  give  her  a  larger  share.  Alger's 
habits,  I  understand,  have  been  bad  of  late  years,  and 
it,  perhaps,  might  be  made  to  appear  that  he  was 
incompetent.  If  the  will  were  broken,  Mrs.  Wilder 
would  get  all,  and  that  poor  lady  nothing — she  not 
being  Alger's  lawful  wife.  Mrs.  Wilder  said  she  was 
to  meet  Shepherd  again,  and  it  may  be — now  that 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       235 

she  knows  how  much  money  is  involved — she  will  not 
be  able  to  resist  the  temptation  he  offers  her.  My 
Uncle  always  thought  she  had  no  moral  principle, 
and  that  is  shown  in  her  recent  history." 

"  I  think  as  you  do,  most  decidedly,  Richard,"  said 
Isabel.  "  The  same  thoughts  have  come  to  me. 
When  did  they  first  occur  to  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Last  night  after  I  went  to  bed.  I  lay  awake 
thinking  of  this  affair  till  midnight." 

"  So  did  I,"  she  replied.  "  How  many  times  this 
has  happened  to  us — that  we,  when  apart,  have  had 
the  same  impressions,  and  come  to  the  same  conclu 
sions." 

"That  is  because  there  is  such  harmony  between  us, 
Bella.  Our  union  of  mind  opens  a  channel  by  which 
our  thoughts  can  flow  from  one  to  the  other.  I  sup 
pose  it  is  so  with  all  pure  souls  who  are  closely  united. 
But  they  need  to  be  pure,  and  to  love  one  another,  for 
love  is  the  magnet  which  draws  the  thought  of  one  to 
the  other. 

"  Such  love  as  ours,  dear,"  she  said,  "  love  that  has 
no  dross  in  it — nothing  selfish  or  earthly.  Such 
moments  are  very  sweet  to  me,  Richard.  Then  you 
come  very  near,  and  I  feel  sure  that  you  could  not  live 
your  full  life  without  me." 

"  I  could  not,  Bella.  I  could  not  be  half  a  man 
without  you.  I  live  in  you.  Kiss  me,  darling."  Then 
he  said  to  her,  "  You  are  very  dear  to  me,  Bella.  We 
will  look  at  the  house,  and  then — " 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  rap  at  the  office  door, 
and  the  office-boy  entered  and  announced,  "  Judge 


236  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

Ellsworth."  The  Judge  was  a  man  of  about  fifty-five 
years,  tall  and  erect,  and  of  slight,  but  well-propor 
tioned  figure.  His  dark  hair  was  untouched  with 
gray,  but  his  regular  features  were  seamed  with  deep 
lines,  more  indicative  of  thought  than  of  years.  He 
wore  glasses,  but  behind  them  were  eyes  more  intense 
and  penetrating  than  any  that  Richard  had  ever  seen. 
His  manner  had  a  quiet  dignity,  blended  with  a  cer 
tain  air  of  command,  which  may  have  been  natural  to 
him,  or,  perhaps,  have  been  acquired  from  his  having, 
for  many  years,  held  the  highest  judicial  position  in 
the  State.  Richard  rose,  and  greeting  him  deferen 
tially,  said,  "  I  am  sorry,  Sir,  that  I  have  had  to  ask 
you  to  call  upon  me  :  but  having  very  recently  ar 
rived,  I  have  mountains  of  work  before  me.  Allow 
me,  Judge  Ellsworth,  to  make  you  acquainted  with 
Miss  Lamson.  We  were  this  moment  conferring 
together  about  the  affair  of  which  I  have  spoken  to 
you." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  Judge,  looking  pleasantly  at 
Isabel.  "  Do  you  talk  over  your  business  affairs  with 
the  lady  members  of  your  household  ?  " 

"  I  do  with  Miss  Lamson,  Sir," — answered  Richard, 
"  all  affairs  of  importance." 

"And  sometimes,  Sir,"  said  Isabel,  smiling,  "I 
catch  his  ideas  when  he  doesn't  know  it.  That  may 
be  the  reason  he  keeps  nothing  from  me." 

"  I  suspect  that  is  not  the  only  reason,"  replied  the 
Judge.  "He  has  no  doubt  learned  from  experience 
that  a  woman's  brain  is  much  clearer,  and  more  intu 
itive,  than  a  man's.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  always  con- 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       237 

suiting  my  wife,  and  since  her  death  I  confer  with  my 
daughter,  upon  all  matters  of  any  moment." 

"  I  think,  Richard,  you  had  better  follow  the 
Judge's  counsel  in  this  business  implicitly;  his  opin 
ions  are  certainly  sound  on  the  woman  question," 
said  Isabel,  laughing. 

"  Undoubtedly,  I  shall,"  replied  Richard.  "  What 
conclusion  have  you  come  to,  Sir,  in  regard  to 
Suydam?  " 

"  I  hear  nothing  against  him,  except  that  he  has  a 
disreputable  clientage  ;  but  I  conclude  that  he  is  not  a 
person  to  whom  I  should  entrust  any  very  large 
interests." 

"So  we  have  concluded,  Sir,"  said  Richard.  "Miss 
Lamson  and  I  are  both  greatly  interested  in  Mrs. 
Alger,  and  we  would  be  much  pleased  if  you  would 
undertake  this  business — go  to  London,  and  protect 
the  rights  of  that  lady.  Your  time  we  know  to  be 
valuable ,  but  I  will  respond  to  any  fee  you  may 
name." 

"  It  is  not  so  much  the  fee,  Mr.  Thorndike,"  re 
sponded  the  Judge,  "  as  the  impossibility  of  my  get 
ting  away.  However,  I  can  send  one  of  my  partners, 
who  will  follow  closely  my  instructions,  and  do  the 
business  as  well  as  I  could.  I  will  vouch  for  his 
integrity,  which  is  the  main  thing  needed  in  the  cir 
cumstances  of  this  case." 

"  Very  well,  Sir,  that  will  be  satisfactory,"  said 
Richard.  "  I  suppose  that  you  will  advise  me  to  with 
draw  my  offer  to  Suydam,  on  the  ground  that  I  have 
decided  to  send  my  own  attorney." 


238  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THOKNDIKES. 

"  I  should  do  so,"  he  replied.  "  The  only  danger  to 
Mrs.  Alger's  interest  is  from  a  possible  combination 
between  the  man,  Shepherd,  and  Mrs.  Cravan  to  break 
the  will.  In  view  of  that,  it  is  important  that  you 
should  not  aid  Suydam  to  get  to  London." 

As  the  Judge  turned  to  leave  the  room  the  office- 
boy  entered,  asking  for  Mr.  Ketchum.  That  gentle 
man  came  to  the  door  of  the  inner-apartment,  and, 
glancing  at  the  card  the  lad  handed  him,  he  said,  "  It 
is  the  Rev.  Dr.  Ludlow.  He  is  the  pastor  of  my 
church,  and  my  intimate  friend.  I  should  like  very 
much  to  introduce  him  to  you." 

"  Is  he  of  the  English  church  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lam- 
son. 

"  Yes,  Madam — the  Episcopal  church." 

"  And  does  he  give  you  very  much  of  what  my  hus 
band  used  to  call  '  hot  drops  '  ?  " 

"Oh!  no,  Madam,"  answered  Mr.  Ketchum;  "his 
medicine  is  very  mild,  and  he  contrives  to  make  it 
quite  palatable." 

"  Then  I  think  he  may  do  for  us.  We  are  not  over- 
pious,  Mr.  Ketchum,  but  we  like  sensible  clergymen. 
Ask  him  in  at  once." 

Mrs.  Lamson  having  assumed  an  upright  position, 
the  clergyman  was  ushered  into  the  inner  room.  He 
was  a  brilliant  conversationalist,  and  interested  and 
entertained  Mrs.  Lamson  greatly.  After  laughing 
heartily  at  one  of  his  anecdotes,  she  said  to  Richard, 
"  If  the  Doctor  preaches  as  well  as  he  talks,  Richard, 
it  will  be  worth  while  to  hear  him.  Had  we  not  bet 
ter  go  to  his  church  next  Sunday?" 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       239 

"  Certainly,  Mother,  if  you  desire  to,"  answered 
Richard. 

Dr.  Ludlow  glanced  from  him  to  her  as  if  to  trace 
the  family  resemblance,  and  then  said,  "  I  was  not 
aware,  Madam,  that  Mr.  Thorndike  was  your  son  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  said  Mrs.  Lamson,  "  he  is — the  best 
and  only  boy  I  ever  had." 

"  It  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  you,  Madam,  to 
have  both  your  children  with  you — both  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike  and  Miss  Lamson."  As  the  worthy  clergyman 
said  this,  it  was  evident  that  he  had  already  found 
Mrs.  Lamson  guilty  of  a  first  and  second  husband. 

"  It  is,  Sir,"  she  answered,  "a  great  comfort.  Bella 
is  the  best  daughter  a  mother  ever  had,  and  Richard 
the  best  son.  They  both  think  more  of  me  than  they 
do  of  themselves." 

"  It  is  very  beautiful  to  see  such  family  affection," 
said  the  Doctor.  "  You  know  it  is  '  the  only  bliss  of 
Paradise  that  has  survived  the  fall.'  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  '  fall,'  Doctor,"  replied 
Mrs.  Lamson.  "  My  husband  was  of  opinion  it  had 
been  more  of  a  progress  up,  than  a  tumble  down;  but 
I  am  quite  sure  there  is  more  of  that  sort  of  bliss  in 
China — even  among  the  heathen — than  in  this  Chris 
tian  country." 

"  That  comes,  I  imagine,  from  your  being  thrown  so 
much  together,  and  having  no  other  society,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"That  may  have  an  influence  upon  us,  Christians," 
replied  Mrs.  Lamson,  "  but  it  doesn't  effect  the  native 
Chinese.  They  are  thicker  than  bees  in  a  hive.  I 


240  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

think  it  is  owing  to  our  living  nearer  to  nature — being 
less  hemmed  around  with  conventionality  than  you 
are.  We  abominate  cant  and  sham,  always  speak  the 
truth,  and  call  things  by  their  right  names." 

"  Of  course  we  do,  Sir,"  said  Isabel,  laughing. 
"  Mother  did  when  she  told  you  that  Richard  was  her 
son,  and  he,  when  he  called  her  '  Mother  ;  '  he  being 
neither  her  son  nor  my  brother.  But,  Sir,  he  is  just 
the  same  to  us  as  if  he  were." 

"  Well,"  rejoined  the  Doctor,  "  the  relation  is  a  very 
pleasant  one  to  witness.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  know 
you  better,  and  trust  you  will  allow  me  to  call  upon 
you." 

"  Most  certainly,  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson.  "  Any 
friend  of  Mr.  Ketchum  will  be  always  welcome  with 
us." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  a  card  was  handed 
in  to  Richard  on  which  was  written.  "Mr.  Chauncey 
Shepherd,  of  London,  desires  a  short  interview  with 
Mr.  Thorndike,  on  an  important  subject."  He  handed 
the  card  to  Isabel,  saying,  "  It  is  about  that  affair, 
Bella  ;  and  I  would  like  to  have  you  hear  what  he  has 
to  say."  Then,  as  they  rose  to  leave  the  room,  he 
said  to  the  clergyman.  "  You  will  excuse  us,  Sir,  if 
we  withdraw  for  a  little  while.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
meet  you  again  at  any  time,  either  here  or  at  our 
lodgings." 

Closing  the  inner  door  behind  them,  they  then 
resumed  their  previous  seats  in  the  outer  room,  and 
Mr.  Shepherd  was  ushered  into  the  apartment.  He 
was  of  about  fifty  years,  faultlessly  attired,  and  there 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       241 

was  about  him  that  indefinable  air  which  denotes  good 
breeding  ;  but  his  face  wore  a  dissipated,  somewhat 
jaded  look,  the  result,  no  doubt,  of  a  merely  animal 
life,  and  long  habits  of  self-indulgence.  He  gave  a 
courteous  greeting  to  Richard,  and  a  more  ceremonious 
one  to  Isabel,  saying  to  her,  "  It  is  many  years  since 
we  met,  Miss  Lamson  ;  but  you  appear  not  to  have 
grown  a  day  older." 

"  You  are  too  complimentary,  Sir,"  replied  Isabel, 
"  for  I  am  several  years  older.1' 

"  Pray  be  seated,  Mr.  Shepherd,"  said  Richard.  "  To 
what  am  I  indebted  for  this  visit?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware,  Mr.  Thorndike,  that  you  were 
in  town  until  this  morning,"  he  replied,  giving  no 
heed  to  the  distant  manner  of  both  Isabel  and  Rich 
ard.  "  I  was  told  of  your  arrival  by  Mrs.  Cravan,  who 
informs  me  that  she  has  spoken  with  you  upon  a  mat 
ter  in  which  she  and  I  are  mutually  interested.  I 
shall  feel  obliged,  if  you  will  allow  me  a  few  minutes 
conversation  on  that  subject  privately." 

"  You  can  speak  freely  before  Miss  Lamson,  Sir," 
replied  Richard.  "  She  feels  as  deep  an  interest  in 
this  affair  as  I  do,  and  whatever  action  I  may  take 
about  it  will  be  with  her  approval." 

"  Then,  I  will  speak  with  entire  openness  to  both  of 
you,"  said  Mr.  Shepherd,  with  much  apparent  frank- 
ness.  "  I  arrived  in  New  York  by  the  steamer  three 
weeks  ago,  and  after  about  a  week  of  inquiry,  learned 
the  whereabouts  of  Mrs.  Cravan,  who,  as  Alice 
Pritchett,  I  knew  to  be  the  only  sister  of  James 
Pritchett  Alger,  who  was  known  until  he  left  this 
16 


242  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

country,  as  simply  James  Pritchett.  I  brought  her 
information  that  her  brother  had  died,  leaving  her  a 
large  legacy,  and  I  told  her  that  he  had  also  named 
me  in  his  will  to  the  extent  of  some  ten  thousand 
pounds.  I  then  proposed  that  she  should  employ  me 
as  her  attorney  to  collect  her  legacy,  and  allow  me  a 
small  fee,  and  the  expenses  I  had  been  at  in  coming 
to  this  country  to  bring  her  good  fortune  to  her  notice. 
She  was  overjoyed  at  the  intelligence  ;  but  she  hesi 
tated  to  accede  to  my  suggestion,  on  account — as  I 
suppose — of  my  being  a  stranger  to  her.  At  any  rate, 
she  asked  me  to  call  upon  her  on  the  following  day. 
I  did  so,  when  she  requested  that  I  should  go  with 
her  to  her  lawyer,  a  Mr.  Suydam,  who  after  question 
ing,  and  cross-questioning,  me  on  the  subject,  proposed 
to  accompany  me  to  London,  at  his  own  cost  and 
charges,  he  to  represent  Mrs.  Cravan,  but  to  reimburse 
me  for  my  expenses,  and  to  allow  me  the  fee  I  had 
stipulated  for,  when  the  legacy  should  have  been 
realized.  That  was  a  fortnight  ago,  and  two  steamers 
have  since  sailed  for  Liverpool ;  but  Mr.  Suydam  has 
failed  to  go,  because  he  has  been  unable  to  raise  the 
paltry  five  hundred  dollars  needed  for  his  expenses. 
I  called  on  Mrs.  Cravan  this  morning  to  urge  speedy 
action,  and  she  told  me,  very  curtly,  that  she  had  now 
no  need  of  my  services,  inasmuch  as  she  had  arranged 
to  go  herself  with  Mr.  Suydam,  and  that  you  were  to 
furnish  the  funds  for  their  expenses.  I  have  called 
upon  you,  Mr.  Thorndike,  to  assure  you  that  if  you  do 
this,  you  will  be  instrumental  in  doing  a  great  wrong 
to  Mrs.  Alger — a  most  estimable  lady — for  their  inten- 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       243 

tion  is  to  break  the  will,  and  seize  upon  the  entire 
property." 

"  But,  can  they  break  the  will?  "  asked  Richard. 

"  I  think  they  might,  Sir,"  answered  Mr.  Shepherd, 
"  for  at  intervals  during  more  than  a  year  before  he 
executed  it,  Alger  was  non-compos  mentis^  and  totally 
unfit  to  attend  to  business.  This  was  the  result  of 
long  habits  of  dissipation,  which,  towards  the  close  of 
his  life,  increased  to  such  a  degree  that  he  was  well- 
nigh  beastly." 

"  But  was  not  that  lady  his  wife  ?  "  inquired  Rich 
ard. 

"  She  would  have  been  in  this  country,  Sir  :  she  was 
not  in  England." 

"  And  why  not  in  England?  " 

"  To  answer  that,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Shepherd,  with  a 
prodigal-son  tone  of  voice,  "  requires  me  to  publish  my 
own  shame  ;  but  I  will  do  it,  that  you  may  know  all 
the  facts.  It  was  a  mock  marriage.  I  know  it,  Sir, 
for  I  myself  performed  the  ceremony.  I  take  shame 
to  myself  for  it ;  but  Pritchett  and  I  were  very  inti 
mate  friends,  and  I  desired  to  oblige  him.  It  was,  Sir, 
one  of  the  errors  of  my  youth,  which  I  have  ever 
since  most  deeply  regretted." 

"  I  knew  it  had  been  so!",  exclaimed  Isabel.  "I 
knew  that  poor  lady  had  been  foully  wronged,  and 
was  as  pure  as  an  angel." 

"  She  was  and  is  embodied  purity,  Miss  Lamson/' 
said  Shepherd,  warmly.  "  I  never  knew  so  angelic  a 
woman." 

"  But,"    said   Richard,    anxious   to  keep  him  to  the 


244  TIIE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

line  of  inquiry  he  was  pursuing.  "  I  have  understood 
that  you  were  at  that  time  a  clergyman  of  the  Church 
of  England.  Was  not  that  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir,  it  was,"  answered  Shepherd.  "  I  had 
then  been  ordained  a  half-dozen  years,  and  had  held 
two  parishes.  I  am  still  a  clergyman.  The  evidence 
of  that  I  have  in  my  pocket." 

"  Are  you  willing  that  I  should  see  it  ? "  asked 
Richard. 

"  Most  certainly,  Sir,"  said  Shepherd,  drawing  from 
his  side  pocket  a  folded  paper,  and  handing  it  to 
Richard.  "It  is  a  letter  I  received  just  previous  to 
leaving  London,  from  my  relative,  the  Bishop  of  -  — , 
in  reply  to  a  request  I  had  made  for  a  rectorship,  in 
consequence  of  my  income  having  been  largely  cur 
tailed  by  the  death  of  Mr.  Alger.  You  will  observe 
that  it  is  addressed  to  me  as  the  Rev.  Chauncey 
Shepherd,  and  that  it  bears  the  seal  of  the  Bishopric." 

"  And  in  it  the  Bishop  offers  you  a  curacy,  and 
promises  further  advancement  as  soon  as  circum 
stances  permit,"  said  Richard,  handing  the  letter  to 
Isabel.  "  Will  you  allow  me  to  retain  this,  to  show  to 
my  counsel  ? ' 

"You  can  keep  it  altogether,  Mr.  Thorndike,"  said 
Shepherd.  "  It  is  of  no  value  to  me.  I  replied  to  it 
before  leaving  London." 

"  Is  not  a  license  necessary  to  a  marriage  in 
England  ?'' 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  answered  the  clergyman,  "  and  we  had 
one,  and  the  lady  has  it  now.  She  would  not  have 
consented  to  the  marriage  without  it." 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       24$ 

"  And  is  not  a  marriage  performed  under  license, 
and  by  a  clergyman,  as  valid  in  England  as  in  this 
country  ?  " 

"  I  take  it  that  it  is  invalid  there  when  the  clergy 
man  is  in  disgrace,  and,  a  dozen  times  within  the  year, 
before  the  police-court  for  drunkenness,  and  disorderly 
conduct.  That,  unfortunately,  Sir — I  am  speaking 
very  frankly  to  you — was  my  condition  at  that 
period." 

"You  were  in  disgrace,  but  not  actually  suspended 
— or,  as  I  think  you  call  it — disrobed  ?  "  said  Richard. 

"No,  Sir,"  he  answered.  "I  was  never  disrobed. 
I  have  always  stood  well  enough  on  the  records  of  the 
Church — though  for  many  years  I  have  not  preached." 

"  When  was  this  lady  led  to  suppose  that  the  mar 
riage  was  not  a  legal  ceremony?  "  asked  Isabel. 

I  think  it  was  about  eight  years  ago,  when  her 
daughter  was  about  nine  years  old.  It  was  a  brutal 
thing  in  Alger  to  tell  her ;  but  I  think  he  had  then  in 
mind  to  marry  some  other  lady.  It  nearly  broke  the 
poor  woman's  heart." 

Isabel  leaned  over  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and  whis 
pered  to  Richard,  "  It  was  about  that  time  that  he 
asked  Father's  permission  to  pay  his  addresses  to  me, 
when  he  should  have  returned  from  London  to  Hong 
Kong." 

Richard  smiled,  and  then  said  to  Mr.  Shepherd, 
"  Allow  me  to  ask,  Sir,  how  you  know  that  it  is  Mrs. 
Cravan's  intention  to  break  the  will  ?  "  . 

"  She  intimated  to  me  in  pretty  direct  terms  that 
she  should  attempt  to  do  so." 


246  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  But  doesn't  she  know — doesn't  her  lawyer  tell  her 
—that  if  the  will  should  be  annulled,  Mr.  Alger's  wife 
and  daughter  would  inherit  the  entire  property,  and 
she  be  cut  off  from  her  legacy?" 

"  No,  Sir,  because  she  is  aware  that  Mrs.  Alger  was 
not  Alger's  legal  wife,  and  that,  consequently,  her 
daughter  is  illegitimate,  and  cannot  inherit." 

"  How  did  she  come  to  know  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  Sir — I  think,"  answered  Shepherd,  hesitat 
ingly,  "  I  think  I  intimated  to  her  that  the  marriage 
would  not  bear  investigation — let  the  idea  drop  in  an 
incidental  way." 

Of  course,"  said  Richard,  "she  would  not  have 
known  the  fact  if  you  had  not  told  her — though  I  do 
not  believe  it  to  be  a  fact.  Will  you  tell  me  now, 
Mr.  Shepherd,  what  fee  you  proposed  to  charge  Mrs. 
Cravan  for  collecting' her  legacy?" 

"  The  usual  fee  in  such  cases — I  don't  know  what  it 
is  exactly,  but  I  suppose  about  one  per  cent — that, 
and  my  expenses,  some  six  hundred  dollars  or  so." 

"And  do  you  ask  me  to  believe,  Mr.  Shepherd," 
said  Richard,  "  that  you  have  crossed  the  Atlantic,  at 
an  expense  of  six  hundred  dollars,  to  get  three  thou 
sand  from  a  woman  you  had  no  knowledge  of,  and 
who  might  be  dead  for  aught  you  knew  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  business,  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike,"  said  Shepherd,  "I  never  undertake  it  without 
doing  some  foolish  thing." 

"  Well,  Sir,"  said  Richard,  "  you  did  a  very  foolish 
thing  when  you  undertook  to  deceive  me  in  this 
matter.  With  all  your  effusive  frankness  you  have 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       247 

kept  from  me  the  most  important  fact  in  this  whole 
business,  and  that  fact  is,  that  you  left  England  with 
the  deliberate  purpose  to  find  the  American  heirs,  and 
by  colluding  with  them  to  break  Mr.  Alger's  will. 
All  of  a  fortnight  ago,  you  and  Mrs.  Cravan  and  the 
lawyer,  Suydam,  plotted  together  to  rob  that  poor 
lady  and  her  daughter,  and  divide  the  proceeds 
between  you.  That  is  the  intention  of  those  two 
now,  and  it  would  be  yours,  if  you  were  not  satisfied 
they  were  playing  you  false.  I  have  no  sort  of  ques 
tion  that  they  are,  and  that  Mrs.  Cravan  is  at  this 
moment  chuckling  over  the  thought  that  by  hypocrit 
ical  professions  of  friendship,  she  has  cajoled  a  green 
youth  into  furthering  her  nefarious  scheme.  And  you 
would  have  succeeded,  but  for  an  important  fact  which 
you  both  have  overlooked — namely,  that  a  just  God 
has  something  to  say  in  the  affairs  of  this  world.  The 
singular  manner  in  which  the  knowledge  of  this 
intended  rascality  has  been  brought  to  me,  I  regard 
as  a  clear  intimation  that  Providence  has  laid  it  upon 
me  to  thwart  the  scheme,  and  protect  Mrs.  Alger  to 
the  uttermost.  And  I  shall  do  that  most  cheerfully, 
feeling  that  I  am  doing  God's  service ;  for  I  fully 
believe  that  lady  to  have  been  Alger's  wife  by  the 
laws  of  both  God  and  man.  Now,  Sir,  you  and  Mrs. 
Cravan  can  proceed  to  break  the  will  as  soon  as  you 
are  disposed.  I  shall  do  nothing  to  prevent  it,  for  I 
think  you  both  deserve  to  be  punished.  The  cheapest 
course  is  to  let  you  punish  yourselves,  and  you  will  do 
that,  for  you  will  find  that  breaking  the  will  is  not 
annulling  the  marriage,  and  you  will  have  to  do  that 


248  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

before  you  can  touch  a  dollar  of  Alger's  property. 
You  cannot  annul  the  marriage.  If  in  your  blunder 
ing  rascality  you  did  make  some  technical  flaw  in  the 
legal  formalities,  no  judge  or  jury  in  all  England 
would  dare  to  abet  such  an  outrageous  fraud  upon  an 
innocent  woman.  I  have  already  consulted  the  ablest 
counsel,  and  shall  send  my  own  attorney  to  London 
by  the  next  steamer  to  protect  the  interest  of  Mrs. 
Alger,  and  I  shall  expend  whatever  money  or  time 
may  be  necessary  to  defend  her  rights.  I  shall  tell 
Mrs.  Cravan's  lawyer  that  he  has  only  to  proceed  in 
this  business  to  deprive  his  client  of  her  legacy,  and 
consign  her  last  days  to  an  alms-house.  Now,  Sir,  I 
have  been  more  frank  with  you  than  you  have  been 
with  me — and  I  think  we  need  say  nothing  more  on 
this  subject." 

While  he  listened  to  these  remarks  Mr.  Shepherd's 
face  had  assumed  every  conceivable  color.  At  times 
it  was  white,  at  times  red,  and  then  of  a  ruddy  purple 
• — the  hue  of  the  stagnant  alcohol  which  slept  in  his 
veins,  and  had  rushed  to  the  surface  to  blush  with 
shame  over  the  misdeeds  of  this  reprobate  clergyman. 
At  first  he  felt  incapable  of  either  defence  or  explana 
tion,  but  at  last  the  little  honesty  that  was  in  him 
asserted  itself,  and  casting  down  his  eyes,  he  said, 
deliberately,  "  You  have  remarkable  discernment, 
Mr.  Thorndike.  I  did  agree  to  break  the  will,  and 
divide  the  proceeds  with  Mrs.  Cravan.  I  was  tempted 
to  it  by  the  fact  that  my  income  is  so  much  reduced 
by  the  death  of  Alger,  that  it  does  not  nearly  meet 
my  expenses.  I  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  again 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       249 

going  into  the  Church — I  felt  it  would  be  defying 
God  himself  for  a  man  like  me  to  preach  of  Gospel — 
so,  I  was  tempted  to  this  crime." 

"  I  think  you  are  right  as  to  your  fitness  for  the 
pulpit,"  said  Richard,  in  a  tone  slightly  flavored  with 
pity ;  "  but  tell  me,  why  was  it  that  Alger  allowed  you 
an  income  four  times  larger  than  the  legal  interest  of 
your  money  ?" 

"  Because,  Sir,  my  money,  and  the  avails  of  a  crime 
he  had  committed,  started  him  in  business.  I  knew 
of  that  crime,  and — until  within  a  few  years,  when  it 
was  outlawed — I  could  have  secured  his  conviction  as 
a  felon.  He  held  the  ten  thousand  pounds  I  had  in 
herited — to  that  extent  I  was  in  his  power.  I  had  the 
evidence  of  his  crime  in  my  hands,  so  he  was  in 
mine.  I  held  my  peace  for  the  sake  of  my  money, 
and  he  was  liberal  to  me  to  secure  my  silence." 

"  But  did  you  not  know  that  Alger  was  good,  and 
you  could  easily  collect  the  money?" 

"I  could  not  collect  it,"  replied  Shepherd.  "In 
my  ignorance  of  business  I  had  failed  to  take  any 
evidence  of  the  debt,  and  afterwards  he  refused  to 
give  me  any.  But  I  trusted  that  if  he  died,  he  would 
provide  for  me  ;  and  besides,  I  was  not  anxious  to  be 
paid  so  long  as  I  received  four  times  the  legal  income 
of  my  money.  Perhaps  I  should  be  justly  punished  if 
I  now  lost  it ;  but  Mr.  Thorndike,  I  can  do  essential 
service  in  securing  that  lady  her  rights,  and  I  will  do 
it,  if  you  will  assure  me  that  I  shall  have  what  is  justly 
my  due. 

"You   can't  expect   me    to  trust   you,    Mr.   Shep- 


250  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

herd,"  answered  Richard,  "  and  I  am  now  convinced 
the  marriage  can  be  sustained  without  your  help. 
But,  I  will  say  that  if  you  do  what  you  can  to  pro 
mote  a  just  settlement  of  the  estate,  I  shall  feel 
bound — whether  the  will  is  broken  or  not — to  advise 
Mrs.  Alger  to  allow  your  legacy  to  be  paid." 

"  You  need  not  fear,  Sir,"  said  Shepherd.  "  My 
interest  will  make  me  faithful  to  you." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Richard;  "then  meet  my 
counsel  here  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow.  Meanwhile,  I 
would  suggest  that  you  see  Mrs.  Cravan,  and  enlighten 
her  upon  the  fact  that  I  do  not  propose  to  pay  the 
expenses  of  her  trip  to  Europe." 

When  the  Rev.  Mr.  Shepherd  had  left  the  office, 
Richard  said  to  Isabel,  "  Bella,  dear,  the  devil  always 
overreaches  himself.  That  man  can  collect  his  ten 
thousand  pounds,  whether  the  will  is  broken  or  not  ; 
for  Alger  has  acknowledged  the  debt  by  the  very 
terms  of  the  legacy.  Shepherd  does  not  know  that, 
and  it  was  not  my  business  to  tell  him." 

"  Ah  !  Richard,"  she  answered,  "  I  am  so,  so  proud 
of  you." 

Opening  the  door  of  the  inner  room  a  moment 
later,  they  found  Mrs.  Lamson  in  a  gale  of  laughter. 
The  good  clergyman  had  been  drawing  upon  his  bud 
get  of  humorous  anecdote,  and  the  time  passed  so 
swiftly  that  neither  Mrs.  Lamson,  nor  Mr.  Ketchum, 
had  noted  its  passage.  When  Dr.  Ludlow  rose  to 
take  his  leave  Mrs.  Lamson  said  to  him,  "  We  hope 
to  soon  be  in  our  own  house.  Then  you  must  come 
to  see  us  often,  and  we  shall  attend  your  church,  if 


THE  REVEREND  MR.  SHEPHERD.       2$  I 

you  do  not  put  too  many  '  hot  drops  '  into  your  ser 
mons." 

On  their  way  up  town  they  called  at  the  house 
which  the  ladies  had  already  examined.  When  they 
had  gone  entirely  over  it,  and  had  returned  to  the 
library,  Isabel  said  to  Richard,  "  Come  into  the  little 
room,  Richard.  Here  we  can  resume  the  studies  I 
have  missed  so  much." 

When  they  rejoined  Mrs.  Lamson,  she  said  to  them, 
"  Now,  children,  I  will  buy  and  pay  for  this  establish 
ment,  and  make  you  a  Christmas  present  of  it,  if  you 
will  let  me  write  your  two  names  in  the  deed  together. 
You  know  what  I  mean,  my  dears." 

"/do,  Mother,"  answered  Richard.  "That  matter 
rests  altogether  with  Bella." 

"  Richard  and  I  will  talk  it  over  by  ourselves, 
Mother,"  said  Isabel.  "  Father  has  not  yet  been 
dead  a  year." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  COUNTERFEIT  PRESENTMENT. 

As  has  been  said,  young  Thorndike  early  formed 
reasonably  clear  conceptions  of  religious  truth,  and 
acquired  a  firm  faith  in  the  divine  authorship  of 
Christianity.  This  faith  was  at  first  merely  an  intel 
lectual  conviction ;  but  as,  day  by  day,  the  Christ 
dawned  upon  him  in  His  transcendent  purity,  beauty, 
and  grandeur,  the  light  fell  within  upon  his  own  soul, 
and,  his  own  moral  nature  being  revealed  to  him,  he 
realized  those  words  of  Job,  "  I  have  heard  of  thee 
by  the  hearing  of  the  ear;  but  now  mine  eye  seeth 
thee.;  wherefore  I  abhor  myself,  and  repent  in  dust 
and  ashes." 

At  this  period  he  passed  long  hours  in  Gethsemane. 
struggling  with  his  inherited  tendencies.  His  eye  was 
single,  his  heart  was  right,  the  spirit  within  him  was 
eager,  but  the  flesh  was  weak.  An  innocent  child 
caged  in  a  den  of  wild  beasts,  and  feebly  contending 
against  their  fury,  might  have  been,  at  this  time,  an 
image  of  his  soul,  loving  truth  singly,  but  torn  contin 
ually  by  the  passions  of  the  animal  nature  with  which 
it  was  environed.  For  long  he  trod  the  wine-press 
alone — trod  it  till  his  feet  were  weary,  his  heart  was 
faint,  and  he  sank  exhausted  in  the  thick  darkness. 


A   COUNTERFEIT   PRESENTMENT.  253 

He  had  struggled  bravely  with  the  evil  within  and 
without  him  ;  but  he  had  struggled  in  his  own  strength, 
and  in  that  conflict  no  man,  unaided,  ever  came  off  a 
conqueror.  At  last,  nerveless  and  powerless,  he  went 
to  Isabel,  who,  with  fleeter  foot  had  already  scaled  the 
spiritual  heights  whence  only  comes  the  life-giving 
power  that  can  uplift  the  weary  and  sin-laden. 
"  Bella,"  he  said  to  her,  "  will  you  not  pray  for  me  ?  " 
She  led  him  into  the  little  study  where  they  had  so 
often  sat  together,  and  falling  with  him  upon  her 
knees,  asked  the  dear  Lord  to  dispel  his  darkness,  and 
bring  him  out  into  his  own  marvellous  light.  And 
even  as  she  prayed,  the  clouds  about  him  broke  away, 
and  the  light  streamed  in  upon  his  soul.  Thus  she, 
his  temptation,  became  his  angel  of  blessing  ;  and  so 
she  led  him,  day  by  day,  up  those  spiritual  heights,  till 
he  came  out  at  last  under  the  clear  sky,  where  the 
noonday  sun  is  ever  shining.  And  thus  he  grew  into 
a  vital  union  with  Christ,  seeking  ever  for  clearer 
spiritual  light,  but  more  earnestly  striving  to  follow  the 
footsteps  of  the  Master  in  his  daily  walk  among  men  ; 
regarding  religion  not  as  a  creed,  but  as  a  life ;  and 
this  world  but  the  preparatory  school  for  a  higher 
world  where,  freed  from  the  trammels  of  the  body, 
the  soul  shall  progress  in  love,  and  in  likeness  to  Christ 
forever. 

As  they  sat  at  breakfast  together  on  the  Sunday 
following  the  events  narrated  in  the  preceding  chap 
ter,  Richard  said  to  Mrs.  Lamson,  "  Mother :  it  is  a 
bright,  sunshiny  day — shall  we  not  attend  Dr.  Lud- 
low's  church  this  morning-?" 


254  THE   LAST   OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

"Oh,  yes,  Richard,"  she  answered.  "We  must  not 
forsake  our  good  ways  :  besides,  I  think  we  shall  like 
the  Doctor." 

They  went  early  to  secure  seats,  for  they  were  told 
that  Dr.  Ludlow  drew  such  audiences  that  at  times 
even  standing-room,  was  not  obtainable.  While  wait 
ing  in  the  vestibule,  admiring  the  interior  of  the  gor 
geous  edifice,  they  were  accosted  by  the  sexton,  who, 
bowing  politely,  said,  "  I  presume  this  is  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike."  On  being  told  that  his  presumption  was 
correct,  he  added,  "  The  Doctor  told  me  to  keep  a 
lookout  for  you,  Sir,  I  will  show  you  to  a  slip  where 
you'll  not  be  disturbed." 

The  pew  was  in  the  body  of  the  church,  about  half 
way  down  the  aisle — the  very  best  location  for  hearing 
the  preacher,  and  seeing  the  congregation.  This  last 
was  a  consideration  with  Mrs.  Lamson,  for  having 
been  hidden  for  a  quarter  of  century  among  a  crowd  of 
heathen,  she  was  curious  to  know  how  a  thousand  and 
more  civilized  people  would  appear,  when  gathered  to 
gether,  and  arrayed  in  purple  and  fine  linen.  Soon  the 
congregation  began  to  pour  in  at  the  doors,  and  Mrs. 
Lamson's  eyes  became  fully  engaged,  for  it  was  a 
gorgeous  spectacle.  The  men  were  faultlessly  attired, 
the  women  arrayed  in  silks,  satins,  and  laces,  and, 
some  of  them,  bearing  upon  their  persons  enough  value 
in  precious  stones  to  fully  provision  several  scores  of 
poor  families  for  a  twelvemonth.  It  was  not  long  be 
fore  every  seat  was  filled,  and  people  were  standing  in 
the  aisles  near  the  doorways.  The  doors  were  then 


A   COUNTERFEIT   PRESENTMENT.  255 

closed, — for  it  was  a  chilly  March  morning, — and  soon 
the  service  was  opened  by  Dr.  Ludlow. 

The  scripture  sentences  had  been  read,  the  open 
ing  prayers  said,  the  anthem  sung,  and  Richard  had 
risen  with  the  congregation  to  repeat  the  Psalter, 
when  suddenly  his  eye  fell  upon  a  face  in  a  pew  a 
short  distance  away,  which  riveted  his  gaze,  sent  the 
blood  back  to  his  heart,  and  forced  him  to  clutch  the 
rail  in  front  of  him  for  support.  "  What  is  it, 
Richard  ? "  whispered  Isabel,  as  she  grasped  his  arm 
tightly.  "  Charlotte  !  "  he  answered,  in  the  same  low 
tone.  Her  eye  followed  the  direction  of  his  gaze,  and 
she  saw  the  same  face  she  had  seen  in  the  miniature 
he  had  shown  her,  when,  nearly  six  years  before,  they 
were  about  to  go  on  board  of  the  "  Cleopatra." 
Every  feature  was  the  same,  the  golden  hair,  the 
large  hazel  eyes,  the  transparent  complexion,  lit  up 
now  like  some  fleecy  cloud  behind  which  the  rising 
sun  is  shining.  He  sank  to  his  seat,  and  said  to 
Isabel,  "  I  can't  breathe,  Bella.  I  am  stifling.  I 
must  have  air." 

"  I  will  go  out  with  you,  dear,"  she  said.  Still 
holding  him  by  the  arm,  she  whispered  to  her  mother, 
"  Richard  has  a  sudden  attack  ;  but  don't  worry,  it  is 
nothing.  I'll  go  with  him,  but  you  stay,  till  the  ser 
vice  is  over." 

As  they  rose  to  leave  the  pew,  Richard  looked 
again  at  the  young  woman,  whose  face  at  the  moment 
was  turned  fully  towards  him.  Their  eyes  met,  and, 
gazing  intently  at  her,  he  smiled.  She  observed  this, 
but  she  gave  no  answering  smile,  nor  any  sign  of 


256  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

recognition.  Isabel  still  holding  him  by  the  arm,  he 
walked  with  an  uncertain  step,  out  to  the  doorway. 
He  was  dazed.  He  could  scarcely  think  connectedly. 
His  heart  beat  with  a  slow,  leaden  thump,  and  the 
grip  which  seized  him  when  he  heard  of  her  death, 
seemed  again  closing  upon  him.  "  Do  the  dead  come 
back  ?  "  he  thought.  "  No  ;  but  this  is  Charlotte,  and 
here  has  been  some  terrible  mistake." 

These  ideas  in  his  mind,  he  reached  the  door  with 
Isabel.  The  kindly  sexton  was  there,  and  he  said  to 
him,  "  You  are  ill,  Sir.  Can  I  help  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Richard  ;  "tell  me — who  is  that  lady?" 
and  he  pointed  her  out  to  him  from  the  doorway. 

"That  lady ?"  repeated  the  sexton.  "Oh!  yes,  I 
see  who  you  mean.  That  is  Miss  Murray,"  adding  as 
they  passed  out  into  the  vestibule,  "  She  is  the  daugh 
ter  of  Mr.  Robert  Murray,  the  banker.  They  are 
constant  attendants  here — have  been  for  many  years." 

"  You  see  it  was  all  a  mistake,  dear ;  "  said  Bella  ; 
"  But  we  had  better  go  home."  Then  to  the  sexton 
she  added,  "  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  call  a  car 
nage  ;  and  when  the  service  is  over,  if  ours  is  not  here, 
will  you  please  see  that  our  mother  is  provided  with 
one." 

The  grip  had  passed  off,  and  Richard  breathed 
more  freely  ;  but  still  he  was  faint  and  dizzy,  and  his 
step  had  none  of  its  usual  firmness  when  he  entered 
the  carriage.  Isabel  sat  beside  him,  her  arm  partly 
supporting  his  head,  and  they  rode  along  in  silence, 
she  pondering  this  incident  which  had  been  to  her  a 
revelation.  If  the  counterfeit  presentment  of  his 


A   COUNTERFEIT   PRESENTMENT. 

dead  love,  had  so  stirred  him  to  the  depths  of  his 
soul,  could  she  hope  to  make  him  happy  by  becoming 
his  wife  ?  Would  not  the  memory  of  the  lost  one  for 
ever  haunt  him,  and  come  between  them  continually  ? 
Was  it  not  for  this  that  the  good  angels  had  held  her 
back — inspired  her  with  that  strange  shrinking  when 
ever  he  had  pressed  her  to  take  the  step  that  would  be 
irrevocable?  And  therefore,  was  it  not  far  better  to  live 
as  they  were  living,  till  their  mother  should  be  taken 
from  them,  and  they  were  forced  to  assume  a  nearer 
relation?  To  this  conclusion  she  came,  but  with  no 
less  love,  no  less  tenderness,  no  less  vivid  a  conscious 
ness  that  she  was  necessary  to  him,  and  he  to  her,  and 
that  their  full  lives  could  not  be  lived  except  together. 
When  they  reached  Mrs.  Lamson's  parlor  at  the 
hotel,  Isabel  sat  down  by  Richard's  side  upon  a 
lounge,  and,  taking  his  head  upon  her  lap,  and  brush 
ing  away  the  rumpled  hair  from  his  forehead,  she 
said  to  him,  "  The  dead  do  not  come  back,  my 
darling.  I  wish  they  did,  for  then  you  would  be 
happy.  You  must  wait  for  her  till  you  go  to  her  in 
the  other  life.  Until  then,  I  will  be  the  most  loving 
of  sisters  to  you.  All  that  sister  ever  was  to  brother, 
I  will  be  to  you.  I  will  love  you  always  with  all  my 
soul,  and  you  will  love  me,  with  all  your  soul  ;  and  we 
will  be,  just  as  we  are  now,  all  in  all  to  one  another." 

On  the  following  morning  Dr.  Ludlow  called  at  the 
office  of  Lamson  &  Co.,  and,  being  shown  into   Rich 
ard's    room,    expressed    concern    at   his   having   been 
obliged  to  leave  the  church   before  the  services   were 
17 


258  THE   LAST   OF   THE  THORNDIKES. 

over.  "  It  was  nothing  serious,"  answered  Richard, 
"  only  a  slight  attack  of  faintness.  I  was  all  right  again 
within  an  hour.  By  the  way,  Sir,  I  observed  at 
church  a  young  lady  who  bears  a  striking  resemblance 
to  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine,  who  died  some  years 
ago.  I  am  told  that  her  name  is  Murray,  a  daughter 
of  Mr.  Robert  Murray.  May  I  ask  you  how  I  can 
obtain  an  introduction  to  her?  " 

"  I  will  be  glad  to  give  you  one  myself,"  replied 
the  Doctor.  "  I  know  the  family  intimately.  The 
young  lady  has  grown  up  from  childhood  under  my 
eye.  I  will  call  on  her  with  you  at  any  time — this 
evening,  if  it  is  convenient  to  you." 

"  Thank  you  ;  it  will  be  entirely  convenient." 

"  Then,  I  will  be  at  your  hotel  at  seven  and  a  half 
o'clock  precisely." 

The  good  man  soon  afterwards  took  his  leave, 
probably  to  go  direct  to  Miss  Murray  to  apprise  her  of 
their  intended  coming,  and  to  hint  that  she  should 
be  arrayed  in  her  finest  apparel,  for  her  pretty  face 
had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  brilliant  young 
millionaire,  Richard  Thorndike. 

On  a  nearer  view  the  young  man  found  the  young 
woman  wonderfully  like  his  early  affianced.  The 
resemblance  was  not  merely  in  form,  feature,  and 
complexion,  but  also  in  voice,  manner,  the  pose  of  the 
head,  and,  indeed,  in  every  movement.  Could  Char 
lotte  have  risen  from  her  grave,  just  as  she  was  when 
he  last  saw  her,  she  would  have  been  no  nearer  like 
her  natural  self  than  was  this  young  lady. 

But  the  resemblance  extended  no  farther  than  out- 


A   COUNTERFEIT   PRESENTMENT.  259 

ward  appearance.  One  interview  is  not  enough  to 
gauge  a  character,  but  Richard  very  soon  detected 
that  this  young  woman  was  self-conscious  and  de 
cidedly  worldly,  with  a  mind  that  merely  skimmed 
over  the  surface  of  things,  and  never  had  gone,  with 
any  one  subject,  to  the  bottom.  Such  a  woman 
could  have  no  special  charm  for  him,  even  as  a  slight 
acquaintance ;  but  he  thought  she  might  be  service 
able  to  Isabel  in  finding  avenues  for  her  long-accus 
tomed  work  for  the  Master.  Therefore,  he  invited 
Miss  Murray  to  call  upon  his  mother  and  sister,  when 
they  should  be  domiciled  in  their  own  residence.  He 
was  in  fine  spirits,  and,  graceful  and  cultivated  as  he 
was,  he  rendered  himself  very  agreeable.  It  was  easy 
to  see  that  the  young  lady  was  charmed  with  him,  and 
he  was  not  surprised  that  when  he  rose  to  take  his 
leave,  she  should  invite  him  to  call  again,  and  con 
tinue  the  acquaintance. 

On  his  return  to  his  hotel  he  gave  Isabel  and  her 
mother  his  impressions  of  his  new  acquaintance,  and 
mentioned  to  Isabel  that  Miss  Murray  might  be  the 
means  of  introducing  her  to  work  that  would  be  con 
genial  ;  but  with  this  the  young  lady  passed  from  his 
mind  until  the  following  Saturday.  Then,  on  going 
home  to  his  midday  lunch,  he  found  her  with  Isabel 
and  Mrs.  Lamson  in  the  dining-room  of  their  new 
residence.  After  the  usual  greetings  had  been  ex 
changed,  and  they  were  seated  together  at  the  table, 
Miss  Murray  said  to  him,  "  Are  you  not  home  early, 
Mr.  Thorndike?  My  father  seldom  leaves  his  office 
before  four  o'clock." 


260  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  Nor,  just  now,  do  I,"  answered  Richard,  "except 
on  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays.  On  those  days  I 
come  home  to  lunch,  because  my  mother  and  sister 
are  here  alone  among  strangers.  Besides,  we  are 
accustomed  to  being  much  together,  and  after  a  little 
time  I  hope  to  be  here  daily  at  our  old-fashioned  three 
o'clock  dinner." 

"How  delightful  that  will  be,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Murray.  "  What  a  model  son  and  brother  you  are, 
Mr.  Thorndike."  After  some  unimportant  remarks 
they  retired  to  the  library,  where  Richard,  seating  him 
self  in  the  window  of  an  alcove,  listened  in  silence  to 
a  prolonged  description,  given  by  Isabel  to  Miss  Mur 
ray,  of  life  among  the  Chinese.  As  Isabel  now  and 
then  noted  him  she  observed  that  his  eyes  had  a 
dreamy,  far-away  look,  but  that  not  one  movement  or 
expression  of  the  visitor  escaped  him. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  Miss  Murray  rose  to  leave, 
saying  that  she  was  her  father's  housekeeper,  and 
must  be  at  home  in  time  to  give  attention  to  his  din 
ner.  Then  she  invited  Isabel  and  Mrs.  Lamson  to 
come  to  a  meeting  at  her  father's  house  of  a  society  of 
the  ladies  of  Dr.  Ludlow's  church,  on  the  follow 
ing  Wednesday.  Isabel  and  her  mother  went  to  the 
meeting,  and  passed  a  very  pleasant  afternoon  ;  and  on 
the  following  Saturday,  on  coming  home  to  lunch, 
Richard  found  Miss  Murray  again  seated  at  their 
dining-table.  She  remained  during  the  afternoon, 
being  entertained  mostly  by  Isabel,  while  Richard  was 
seated  as  before  in  the  alcove,  taking  scarcely  any  part 


A   COUNTERFEIT   PRESENTMENT.  261 

in  the  conversation,  but  allowing  no  gesture  of  the 
visitor  to  escape  his  observation. 

As  Richard  had  predicted,  Miss  Murray  proved 
decidedly  useful  to  Isabel.  She  opened  to  her  many 
avenues  of  usefulness,  and  introduced  her  to  some  of 
the  most  charming  people  in  New  York  society.  Soon 
callers  became  frequent  at  the  Lamson  residence,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  the  ladies  and  Richard  had  fre 
quent  invitations  out  to  social  gatherings.  On  such 
occasions  Richard,  who  was  a  brilliant  talker,  and  fond 
of  mixed  society,  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  evening. 
But  on  Wednesday  and  Saturday  afternoons,  which 
now  were  pretty  sure  to  find  Miss  Murray  on  a  visit  to 
Isabel,  he  was  reserved  and  silent,  seldom  speaking, 
but  always,  from  his  seat  in  the  alcove,  watching  every 
movement  of  the  visitor. 

This  close  observation  and  these  fits  of  abstraction, 
did  not  escape  the  notice  of  Isabel ;  and  at  last,  when 
they  had  continued  for  all  of  three  months,  they  gave 
her  so  much  alarm  that  she  finally  spoke  of  them  to 
Richard,  putting,  as  we  shall  see,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  a  wrong  interpretation  upon  his  actions. 

It  was  towards  the  close  of  June,  and  they  were  to 
go  in  a  few  days  to  pass  the  hot  season  in  the  old 
house  at  Dorchester,  when  as  Isabel  and  Richard  were 
one  evening  alone  together  in  the  library,  he  re 
clining  on  a  lounge,  she  seated  near  by,  she  said  to 
him,  "  Richard,  Miss  Murray  is  a  beautiful  young 
woman." 

"She  is,  Bella,"  he  answered,  "and  her  resemblance 
to  Charlotte  is  so  strong  that,  when  I  am  not  listening 


262  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

to  her  conversation,  I  can  fancy  that  it  is  Charlotte 
who  is  talking  with  you." 

"And  do  you  think  she  resembles  Charlotte  in  other 
respects  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  answered.  "  No  two  persons  could 
be  more  unlike." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Bella,  with  more  severity 
than  he  had  ever  heard  in  her  voice  before,  "  for  Miss 
Murray  is  selfish,  shallow,  mercenary,  worldly,  and 
without  the  smallest  particle  of  even  fashionable 
religion.  I  have  studied  her  closely,  and  I  know 
I  am  not  mistaken.  Shall  I  tell  you  something 
more  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered,  looking  at  her  with  sur 
prise.  "  But  pardon  me,  my  darling,  if  I  say  that  I 
never  heard  you  speak  in  that  tone  of  any  one 
before." 

"  I  never  had  occasion  to,"  said  Isabel.  "  I  never 
before  met  a  person  who  was  all  pretense  and  no 
reality.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  else  I  would  say  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  dear.  It  is  music  to  me  to  hear  your 
voice,  whatever  you  say." 

"  Then,"  said  Isabel,  in  the  same  hard  tone,  "  she  is 
scheming  to  marry  you.  She  thinks  you  handsome, 
manly,  brilliant,  cultivated,  a  fine  gentleman,  and, 
better  than  all,  a  millionaire  ;  and  she  means  to  be  the 
mistress  of  your  mansion,  the  dispenser  of  your 
bounty,  a  leader  of  the  ton,  a  bright  particular  star  in 
that  small  galaxy  of  good  women  who  give  large  sums 
to  good  uses,  and  so  gain,  as  they  think,  the  smile  of 
the  Lord,  and — what  they  deem  quite  as  important — 


A   COUNTERFEIT   PRESENTMENT.  263 

the  admiration  of  the  great  world,  and  '  our  best 
society.'  ' 

"  Why,  Bella  dear,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle  tone,  rising 
from  his  recumbent  position  and  looking  tenderly  at 
her,  "  What  in  the  world  has  taken  possession  of 
you?  " 

"Oh!  Richard!''  she  cried,  falling  at  his  knees, 
and  clasping  her  arms  about  him,  "  I  love  you — I 
would  die  for  you.  You  can't  be  happy  with  that 
false,  shallow  woman.  You  have  promised  to  marry 
me  whenever  I  should  be  ready — I  am  ready  now— 
and  I  ask  you  now,  for  I  would  save  you  from  a  life  of 
wretchedness  with  that  hypocritical  woman." 

He  lifted  her  from  the  floor,  drew  her  upon  the 
lounge  by  his  side,  and  held  her  closely  to  him,  as  he 
said,  "  Those  are  the  sweetest  words  I  ever  heard, 
Bella.  You  are  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  world 
besides.  Nothing  is  wanting  to  make  me  entirely 
happy,  but  to  have  you  for  my  own." 

"  I  always  believe  what  you  say,  Richard,"  said 
Bella,  twining  her  arms  about  his  neck,  while  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks  ;  "  but  why — why,  if  you  love 
me  so,  have  you  sat  and  watched  that  woman  by  the 
hour  together?  drinking  in  her  every  word,  and  seem- 
ing  as  if  you  were  in  some  delicious  dream." 

"  I  ivas  dreaming,  my  darling,"  he  answered,  "  I 
didn't  hear  a  word  she  said.  Her  every  look  and 
movement  recalled  to  me  my  happy  past — and  it  was 
happy,  Bella.  I  was  away  again  in  my  old  home  with 
Charlotte.  Sometimes  we  were  little  children,  coast 
ing  down  the  long  hill  together  ;  sometimes,  roaming 


264  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORND1KES. 

hand  and  hand  through  the  old  woods,  gathering 
berries  and  wild  flowers  ;  and  then  sometimes  we  were 
older,  sitting  together  in  the  summer-house  where  you 
sat  with  me  and  mother,  or  under  the  grape-vine  that 
covered  her  father's  western  veranda  ;  and  sometimes, 
too,  we  were  kneeling  together  in  her  father's  library, 
as  we  were  the  last  time  we  met,  when  she  put  the 
little  locket,  that  you  have  seen,  about  my  neck,  and 
this  ring  upon  my  finger,  and  called  me  her  husband, 
and  I  called  her  my  wife.  All  this  came  back  to  me, 
darling,  as  I  sat  there,  and  watched  that  young 
woman's  face ;  but  I  did  not  see  her,  I  did  not  hear 
her — it  was  Charlotte  that  I  saw  and  heard.  But, 
even  Charlotte  I  did  not  love  any  better  than  I  love 
you,  Bella ;  nor  did  she  love  me  any  better  than  you 
love  me ;  nor,  perhaps,  so  well,  for  she  thought  I 
belonged  to  her,  that  I  was  hers  by  natural  right — and 
you  don't  think  that,  dear  Bella,  and  yet,  you  love  me 
so  well." 

"  It  may  be  that  I  shall  think  so  when  I  am  your 
wife,"  she  answered.  "It  is  that  feeling  which  has 
held  me,  Richard  ;  but  it  may  go  away  when  I  am 
irrevocably  yours." 

"And  you  will  be  irrevocably  mine?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  answered,  smiling  through  her 
tears.  "  As  mother  has  suggested — about  Christmas 
time.  Then  father  will  have  been  dead  rather  more 
than  a  year." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A  RESURRECTION   OF  THE  DEAD. 

THE  few  weeks  that  Isabel  passed  in  the  old  home 
of  the  Thorndikes  were  probably  the  happiest  she  had 
ever  experienced.  The  man  whom  her  father  had 
loved,  whom  her  mother  idolized,  and  who  was  her 
own  ideal  of  all  that  is  high  and  noble  in  manhood, 
was  soon  to  be  bound  to  her  for  all  their  earthly  time, 
by  a  tie  that  was  indissoluble.  For  long  she  had 
shrunk  from  this  nearer  relation,  because  of  a  settled 
conviction  that  she  was  not  his  companion  soul,  and  at 
the  last,  had  herself  demanded  it  only  to  save  him,  as 
she  thought,  from  being  entrapped  into  a  life  of 
wretchedness.  But  now  that  the  irrevocable  word  had 
been  spoken,  there  no  longer  came  to  her  an  undefined 
dread  when  she  thought  of  Charlotte,  a  vague  thought 
that  she  might  be  taking  what  was  not  her  own.  The 
past  and  the  future  were  both  swallowed  up  in  the  joy 
of  the  present — in  a  delicious  dream  of  loving  and 
being  loved. 

Isabel  saw,  too,  that  the  little  word  she  had  spoken 
had  awakened  in  Richard  not  only  a  stronger  affection 
for  her,  but  given  him  also  a  deeper  joy  in  existence. 
She  no  longer  saw  in  him  the  unrestful  mood,  the 
reaching  forth  for  external  excitement,  which  she  had 


266  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

occasionally  observed  ever  since  they  had  made  known 
to  each  other  their  mutual  affection.  She  seemed  to 
have  brought  a  serener  happiness  into  his  life,  and  the 
thought  that  she  had  done  this,  so  overcame  her  at 
times  with  joy,  that  she  would  go  alone  to  her  chamber, 
and  there  upon  her  knee^,  and  with  grateful  tears, 
thank  the  dear  Lord  who  had  enabled  her  to  bring  so 
much  hope  and  blessing  into  his  lonely  life. 

But,  did  she  feel  for  him  that  absorbing  passion 
which  is  called  "  love  ?  "  If  we  look  back  at  their  inter 
course  we  shall  perceive  that  the  first  feeling  he  awak 
ened  in  her  was  admiration  for  the  manly  courage 
which  had  saved  her  life  ;  then  came  pity  at  seeing  him 
staggering  under  a  blow  that  nearly  parted  his  soul 
from  his  body  ;  then  followed  the  high  order  of  com 
radeship  felt  by  kindred  spirits  who  think  the  same 
thoughts,  and  labor  together  for  the  same  exalted 
ends;  then  that  spirit  of  absolute  self-sacrifice — born 
in  her  from  her  father — which  finds  delight  in  giving 
to  another  of  its  life,  and,  more  especially  finds  it,  in 
bearing  toil,  and  pain,  and  suffering  for  one  in  whom 
it  sees,  or  thinks  it  sees,  all  the  elements  that  most 
adorn  human  nature.  Very  high  are  these  feelings, 
very  pure,  very  ennobling;  but  are  they,  all  combined, 
that  subtle  magnetism  which  draws  two  souls  irresist 
ibly  together,  which  blends  two  beings  into  one,  so  that 
whether  apart  or  together,  they  live  in  and  by  one 
another,  each  being  to  the  other  the  all  of  life,  and  the 
centre  of  existence?  If  God  "  at  the  beginning  made 
them  male  and  female,"  and  "  they  twain  are  one 
flesh,"  such  twin  spirits  must  exist,  but  were  these  two, 


A   RESURRECTION   OF   THE   DEAD.  267 

dreaming  there  that  delicious  dream  of  early  man 
hood  and  womanhood,  such  companion  souls  ?  We 
shall  see  when  to  that  dream  shall  come  its  awakening. 

Richard  had  been  but  a  few  days  at  the  old  home 
stead  when  word  came  to  him  from  Mr.  Ketchum  that 
the  partner  of  Judge  Ellsworth  had  returned  from 
London,  having,  after  some  delay,  effected  an  equita 
ble  settlement  of  the  Alger  estate.  Anxious  to  know 
all  the  details  of  the  case,  but  unwilling  to  leave  Mrs. 
Lamson  and  Isabel  for  even  a  brief  visit  to  New  York, 
he  sent  for  the  attorney  to  come  on  to  Dorchester. 
The  gentleman  came,  and  reported  that  he  had  found 
on  the  steamer,  going  out  to  London,  not  only  Shep 
herd,  but  Mrs.  Cravan  and  her  attorney,  who  had,  in 
some  way  unknown  to  Shepherd,  found  the  requisite 
means  wherewith  to  defray  their  expenses. 

On  his  arrival  in  London  the  attorney  hastened  at 
once  to  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Alger,  whom  he  found 
living  in  a  beautiful  place  in  the  environs  of  the  great 
city.  She  was  surprised  to  hear  that  any  danger 
existed  of  an  attack  upon  the  will,  and  after  the  attor 
ney  had  secured  her  confidence,  frankly  stated  that 
she  feared  such  an  attempt  might  be  successful,  and 
that  Mr.  Alger  ten  years  before,  had  assured  her  that 
their  marriage  had  not  been  a  legal  one.  From  other 
sources  the  attorney  learned  that  it  would  not  be  diffi 
cult  for  Mrs.  Cravan's  lawyers  to  establish,  by  Alger's 
own  partners,  that  for  a  year  and  more  previous  to  his 
death,  he  was  totally  incompetent  to  transact  busi 
ness,  therefore,  the  whole  case  hung  upon  the  legal- 


268  THE   LAST   OF   THE  THORNDIKES. 

ity  of  his  marriage  with  Georgiana  Saltas,  whom  in  his 
will  he  styled  his  "  reputed  wife."  Fortunately,  Mrs. 
Alger  had  carefully  preserved  the  marriage  license, 
and  also  a  marriage  certificate,  duly  signed  by  Chaun- 
cey  Shepherd,  as  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Eng 
land  ;  and  these  the  attorney  lost  no  time  in  submit 
ting  to  Sir  Charles  Banister,  one  of  the  most  eminent 
chamber-counsellors  of  the  London  Bar,  who,  after 
hearing  the  collateral  circumstances,  at  once  pro 
nounced  the  marriage  valid,  and  absolutely  impreg 
nable. 

Before  the  attorney  left  the  steamer  he  became  sat 
isfied  that  a  secret  understanding  existed  between 
Mrs.  Cravan  and  Shepherd,  to  act  together  in  attack 
ing  the  will ;  and  his  first  interview  with  Shepherd 
after  his  arrival  in  London,  satisfied  him  that  the 
latter  had  discovered  that  his  ten  thousand  pounds 
were  in  no  sort  of  jeopardy,  inasmuch  as  Alger  had 
admitted  the  debt  by  the  very  wording  of  his  will. 
Hence,  Shepherd  had  all  to  gain  and  nothing  to  lose  ; 
and  the  result  was  that  his  sympathy  for  that  "  angelic 
woman,"  as  he  was  accustomed  to  style  Mrs.  Alger, 
went  to  the  winds,  and  he  openly  employed  the  same 
London  counsel  as  Mrs.  Cravan,  and  gave  her  all  the 
aid  he  could  in  gathering  evidence  of  Alger's  incom- 
petency. 

Thus  affairs  stood  when  Judge  Ellsworth's  partner, 
with  the  written  opinion  of  Sir  Charles  Banister,  and 
the  original  documents  establishing  the  legality  of  the 
marriage,  in  his  hands,  called  upon  the  counsel  for 
Mrs.  Cravan.  After  submitting  to  them  the  several 


A   RESURRECTION   OF   THE   DEAD.  269 

papers,  he  said,  "  Now,  gentlemen,  I  have  frankly 
shown  you  our  case.  We  rest  on  the  fact  of  a  legal 
marriage.  If  you  proceed  to  attack  the  will,  we  shall 
not  defend  it.  The  result  will  be,  you  will  break  it, 
and  your  client  will  lose  her  rights  under  it — that  is, 
three  hundred  thousand  dollars.  If  you  elect  to  settle 
at  once,  and  to  give  us  Mrs.  Cravan's  absolute  release 
from  all  claim  upon  her  brother's  estate,  she  shall  be 
paid  her  legacy,  for  it  is  Mrs.  Alger's  desire  to  carry 
out  her  husband's  intentions.  I  shall  await  your 
decision  at  Mrs.  Alger's  house  up  to  three  o'clock 
to-morrow  evening." 

The  following  morning  brought  an  offer  from  Mrs. 
Cravan's  lawyers  to  release  all  claim  upon  the  estate 
on  the  payment  of  four  hundred  thousand  dollars — 
that  being  the  amount  of  the  joint  legacies  to  Mrs.  Cra- 
van  and  her  daughter.  The  last  Mrs.  Cravan  could  not 
legally  claim,  because  Alger  had  conveyed  it  simply  to 
Charlotte  Wilder,  without  the  usual  addendum  of  "her 
heirs  and  assigns,"  so  that,  in  case  of  her  death,  it  was 
not  inheritable  by  her  mother,  but  reverted  to  the 
estate,  and  was  added  to  the  residuary  legacy.  Mrs. 
Alger  would  have  assented  to  this  proposal  had  not 
the  New  York  attorney  opposed  it  strenuously,  say 
ing,  "  She  is  a  bad — a  very  bad  woman.  Let  us  carry 
out  strictly  your  husband's  intentions^-do  her  justice, 
but  give  her  no  mercy."  The  result  was  that  the 
estate  was  speedily  settled  on  the  basis  of  the  will ; 
and  when  this  had  been  done  the  attorney  returned  to 
New  York,  his  expenses,  and  his  fee — a  liberal  one — 
having  been  paid  by  Mrs.  Alger. 


2/0  THE   LAST  OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

He  was  detained  in  England  nearly  six  weeks,  and 
during  the  whole  of  that  time,  Mrs.  Alger  insisted 
upon  his  making  her  house  his  home.  He  was  at  a 
loss  for  terms  sufficiently  strong  to  express  his  admira 
tion  of  that  lady  and  her  daughter  ;  and  he  said  he  had 
never  experienced  a  keener  delight  than  when,  with 
Sir  Charles  Banister's  written  opinion  in  his  hand,  he 
told  her  that  her  marriage  with  Alger  had  been  abso 
lutely  legal.  Her  emotions  almost  overcame  her. 
She  thanked  him,  and,  more  especially,  she  thanked 
Mr.  Thorndike,  who,  from  across  the  wide  Atlantic 
had  stretched  out  his  hand  to  lift  from  her  soul  its 
great  load  of  sorrow.  Surely  the  doing  of  such  a  great 
kindness  had  been  put  into  his  heart  by  the  Good 
Providence  who  watches  over  the  innocent.  At  some 
no  distant  day  she  hoped  to  express  to  him  person 
ally  her  deep  indebtedness. 

When  tlie  attorney  closed  his  narration,  Isabel  said, 
"  Now  that  sad  look  will  go  away  from  that  poor 
lady's  face.  Ah  !  Richard,  '  The  blessing  of  one  who 
was  ready  to  perish  has  come  upon  you,  and  you  have 
made  the  widow's  heart  to  sing  for  joy.'  " 

They  returned  to  New  York  in  the  latter  part  of 
September,  and  not  many  days  thereafter,  Isabel 
received  a  note  from  Miss  Murray,  which  stated  that 
she  had  just  heard  of  their  arrival,  and  invited  her  to 
a  meeting  of  the  church  society,  which  would  be  held 
that  afternoon  at  her  father's  house.  As  it  was  the 
annual  meeting  for  the  election  of  officers,  there  would 
be  a  large  gathering  of  ladies,  and  she  hoped  that 


A   RESURRECTION   OF  THE   DEAD.  2/1 

Isabel  and  her  mother  would  not  fail  to  come.  The 
meeting  would  convene  at  three  o'clock,  and  dinner 
would  be  served  at  six,  after  which  hour  gentlemen 
would  be  welcomed,  and  among  them  she  hoped  to 
see  Mr.  Thorndike.  Before  replying  to  the  note  Isabel 
handed  it  to  Richard,  who  in  answer  to  her  look  of 
inquiry,  said  :  "You  and  mother  had  better  go,  dear; 
but  don't  ask  me — I  have  seen  enough  of  that  young 
woman." 

"  But  we  ought  to  be  civil,  my  darling,"  replied 
Isabel.  "  If  Miss  Murray  is  not  what  we  altogether 
admire,  she  has  been  very  useful  to  us.  At  any  rate, 
Richard,  come  for  mother  and  me  at  seven  o'clock ; 
you  need  not  remain  above  five  minutes.  Then  we'll 
return  and  begin  again  our  studies  in  the  little  room." 

"Very  well,"  he  answered,  "I  am  your  most  obe 
dient  servant." 

"  But,  my  darling,"  she  said,  putting  her  arms 
about  him,  and  pressing  her  lips  to  his:  "do  you 
answer  me  in  such  cold  business  terms?" 

"No,  my  sweet  one,"  he  replied,  "  I'll  amend  them 
—your  obedient  and  loving  servant.  Do  you  know, 
Bella,  that  I  never  wrote  you  a  letter  in  my  life?" 

"  Because  we  have  never  been  a  day  apart  since  we 
first  met  in  China,"  she  answered,  her  arm  still  about 
his  neck. 

"  Nor  ever  shall  be,"  he  said,  straining  her  to  him, 
closely.  "  I  promised  that  to  your  father,  and  I  shall 
keep  my  word." 

There  was  a  brilliant  Catherine:  of  ladies  at  the  meet- 


272  THE   LAST  OF  THE  THORNDIKES. 

ing,  and  among  them  many  of  the  shining  lights  of 
"our  best  society  ";  but  of  them  all  none  shone  quite 
so  resplendent  in  jewels,  laces,  and  furbelows,  as  Miss 
Murray.  Her  greeting  of  Isabel  and  Mrs.  Lamson 
was  cordial,  even  effusive,  and  she  said  to  Isabel  with 
a  complacent  air,  "  There  will  be  many  gentlemen 
here  after  dinner;  I  hope  your  brother  will  come." 

"  Oh!  yes,"  answered  Isabel  ;  "  he'll  surely  be  here. 
He  said  he  would,  and  he  never  breaks  his  word." 
She  smiled  as  she  said  this,  for  she  divined  the  young 
lady's  secret  thoughts  on  the  instant.  She  knew  that 
she  was  aware  of  Richard  having  regarded  her  very 
many  times  with  rapt  admiration,  and  she  saw  that  she 
had  now  arrayed  herself  thus  gorgeously  to  put  a  fin 
ishing  stroke  to  her  conquest  of  the  brilliant  young 
millionaire.  She  smiled  at  the  thought  of  how  little 
the  young  lady  understood  the  man  she  was  hoping  to 
entrap  by  a  few  yards  of  silk,  and  not  above  a  dozen 
tinsel  ornaments. 

The  business  which  had  called  the  ladies  together, 
being  concluded,  they  collected  in  little  knots  in  various 
parts  of  the  spacious  drawing-rooms,  and  engaged  in 
conversation.  An  hour  or  more  had  passed  in  this 
manner,  when  Isabel  observed  a  lady  seated  apart  by 
herself,  in  an  alcove  of  the  rear  room,  whom  no  one 
appeared  to  notice,  and  who  seemed  herself  entirely 
oblivious  to  the  brilliant  gathering.  She  sat  with  her 
hands  folded  upon  her  lap,  and  once  in  a  while 
looked  up,  but  with  an  unappreciative,  abstracted 
expression,  not  at  all  in  harmony  with  the  animation 
and  gayety  she  witnessed.  "  Who  can  she  be  ? " 


A   RESURRECTION   OF   THE   DEAD.-  273 

thought  Isabel,  "  so  plainly  attired,  so  silent,  so  out  of 
place  in  this  gay  assemblage?"  Soon  she  caught  a 
full  view  of  her  face,  and  something  in  it  struck  her 
strangely.  Had  she  not  seen  that  face  before  ?  But 
where  ?  And  those  eyes  '  Oh  '  no  ;  she  could  never 
have  seen  her  ;  for  such  eyes,  once  seen,  could  never 
be  forgotten. 

These  thoughts  came  to  Isabel  as  she  stood  convers 
ing  with  a  lady  near  the  sliding-doors  between  the  two 
rooms,  but,  attracted  by  those  remarkable  eyes,  she 
soon  moved  into  the  rear  apartment,. and  seated  herself 
where  she  had  a  nearer  view  of  the  strange  lady.  She 
wore  a  black  dress  of  some  inexpensive  material,  and 
about  her  neck  a  plain  linen  collar,  having  a  deep  black 
border.  Not  a  single  ornament  was  upon  her  person, 
except  a  heavy  gold  chain,  attached  to  what  seemed  to 
be  a  watch  in  her  girdle.  She  appeared  to  be  about 
thirty-five  years  of  age ;  but  her  dull  auburn  hair  was 
thickly  streaked  with  white  over  and  near  her  temples. 
Her  cheeks  were  sunken,  and  her  features  had  the 
peculiar  sharpness  that  is  given  by  severe  chronic  suf 
fering.  Her  skin  was  very  clear,  and  so  transparent  as 
to  well-nigh  reveal  the  very  workings  of  her  soul ;  but 
it  was  her  eyes  that  riveted  Isabel's  attention.  They 
were  large  and  of  a  dark  hazel,  and  when  turned  fully 
upon  Isabel,  they  thrilled  her  as  with  the  pathos  of 
some  deep  tragedy.  Some  soul-rending  history  was 
in  those  eyes,  and  yet,  it  seemed  impossible  that  they 
could  glow  with  love,  burn  with  indignation,  or  light 
up  with  enthusiasm.  The  soul  behind  them  appeared  to 
be  dead  to  this  world,  and  all  its  belongings.  They 
18 


274  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

shone  with  no  lustre,  but  a  soft,  subdued  light,  that 
shed  all  its  rays  inward,  though  now  and  then  they  had 
a  far-away  look,  as  if  gazing  on  scenes  not  visible  to 
ordinary  sight.  She  had  been  beautiful,  but  she  was 
so  no  longer,  except  to  those  who  have  eyes  for  that 
spiritual  beauty  which  falls  upon  the  faces  of  the  good 
and  the  pure  when  they  come  into  the  near  light 
of  the  better  country. 

A     sort    of    spell — some     irresistible    influence  — 
attracted  Isabel  towards  this  strange  lady,  and  detain 
ing   Miss  Murray  as  she  was  passing  near,  she  said, 
"  Tell  me  :  who  is  she  ?  " 

"  That  lady  ?  "  answered  Miss  Murray.  "  Oh  !  she  is 
a  country  cousin  of  ours — the  daughter  of  my  mother's 
brother.  She  teaches  school  at  Lenox,  in  Berkshire, 
where  we  passed  the  summer,  and  has  returned  with 
us  for  a  short  visit." 

"Won't  you  introduce  me  to  her?  I  think  she 
must  be  strangely  interesting." 

"  Well,  she  is, — to  those  who  like  silence,  and  what 
is  called  spiritual  religion." 

As  the  two  approached  the  strange  lady  she  turned 
her  eyes  upon  them  with  a  faint  smile,  and  rose  from 
her  seat  with  a  gentle  dignity  that  was  charming  to 
Isabel.  "  Cousin  Charlotte,"  said  Miss  Murray ; 
"  this  lady  is  Miss  Lamson,  recently  from  China.  I 
think  you  will  like  to  know  her." 

"Thank  you,  Mary,"  said  Charlotte.  "Pray  be 
seated,  Miss  Lamson." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Isabel,  taking  the  proffered 
chair,  "  I  did  not  catch  the  name  distinctly." 


A   RESURRECTION   OF   THE   DEAD.  275 

"  Mary  calls  me  Charlotte — my  name  is  Wilder — 
Charlotte  Wilder." 

The  blood  fled  from  Isabel's  face — fled  back  to  her 
heart,  well-nigh  suffocating  her.  Could  it  be  true? 
Had  the  dead  indeed  come  back?  Was  the  sweet 
dream  of  her  life  over?  It  was  true.  But  it  was  the 
will  of  her  Heavenly  Father ;  and,  sudden  as  the  blow 
was,  this  loving  child  of  His  bowed  her  head  in  sub 
mission.  For  a  moment  she  sat  speechless,  these 
thoughts  flashing  through  her.  Then  with  the  inward 
prayer,  "  Dear  Lord,  help  me,  strengthen  me,  guide 
me,"  she  turned  to  meet  the  realities  of  her  position. 
"  Charlotte  Wilder,  did  you  say?"  she  asked  in  a  tone 
low,  and  tremulous  with  emotion.  "  Was  Alexander 
Wilder,  of  Dorchester,  your  father?" 

"  He  was,"  answered  Charlotte,  "  but  you  are  not 
well.  This  hot  room  is  oppressive  to  you." 

"  It  is  somewhat,"  said  Isabel,  in  more  of  her  nat 
ural  voice,  "  I  would  like  to  get  away  from  these  peo 
ple.  Will  you  not  come  with  me  into  the  library  ?  " 

It  was  a  corner  house,  three  rooms  deep,  the  library 
the  rearmost  of  the  three,  looking  out  upon  a  small 
grass-plat.  The  sliding-doors  connecting  this  room 
with  the  drawing-rooms  were  closed  ;  and  in  the  quiet 
of  this  apartment  Isabel  thought  she  could  regain  full 
possession  of  her  faculties,  so  rudely  shaken  by  this  sud 
den  discovery.  For  she  could  not  doubt  that  this  was 
Charlotte  Wilder.  The  face  and  eyes,  she  saw — now 
that  she  had  heard  her  name — were  those  of  the  mini 
ature  ;  but  oh  !  how  sadly  ravaged  by  her  great  sor 
row.  But,  true  to  her  unselfish  nature,  she  thought 


2/6  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

not  now  of  herself.  Her  only  thought  was  for  them 
— how  to  break  the  discovery  to  Richard  and  Char 
lotte,  and  how  to  bring  those  two  together  without 
such  a  shock  as  might  be  disastrous  to  that  feeble  and 
wasted  woman. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated  in  the  library  she  said 
to  Charlotte,  "  My  father  was  an  early  friend  of  your 
father.  You  may  have  heard  him  spoken  of,  for  he 
was  well  known  among  merchants.  His  name  was 
Israel  Lamson.  He  is  dead  ;  but  the  house  is  still 
called  Lamson  &  Co." 

"  I  have  heard  the  firm  spoken  of,"  answered  Char 
lotte,  speaking  slowly,  and  with  evident  pain.  "  A 
young  friend  of  mine  was  to  have  been  a  partner  in 
that  house." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  "  asked  Isabel. 

"  Thorndike — Richard  Thorndike.  You  never 
knew  him  ;  for  he  was  lost  at  sea,  on  his  way  to 
China." 

"And  have  you  lived  long  in  Berkshire  County?" 

"  About  six  years.  I  was  taken  to  Lenox  for  my 
health,  and  I  have  scarcely  been  out  of  the  place  since 
I  recovered  it.;> 

"  You  live  there  with  your  father  and  mother  ?  " 

"  No.  My  father  is  dead,  and  my  mother  I  have 
not  seen  for  nearly  four  years.  Our  ways  in  life  have 
parted.  She  sent  me  word  a  little  time  ago  that  she 
was  coming  to  live  with  me  in  Lenox,  but  I  wrote  her 
that  she  had  better  not  come.  Quiet  is  essential  to 
my  health,  and  my  mother  is  not  a  quiet  person." 

The  conversation  at  this  point   was   interrupted  by 


A   RESURRECTION   OF  THE   DEAD.  277 

the  announcement  of  dinner.  They  were  seated  apart 
at  the  table,  and  did  not  again  meet  directly  after 
wards,  in  consequence  of  Isabel's  going  at  once  to  the 
library,  to  there,  by  herself,  consider  how  best  to  break 
to  those  two,  who  thought  each  other  dead,  the  intel 
ligence  that  they  were  living.  In  her  anxiety  .to  save 
them  pain,  she  forgot  the  suffering  which,  like  a  sharp 
knife-wound,  had  pierced,  through  and  through,  her 
own  bosom.  It  lacked  but  a  few  minutes  of  seven 
o'clock  when  she  left  the  library,  and  passing  into  the 
hall,  took  a  seat  on  one  of  the  lower  steps  of  the  front 
stairway.  She  knew  Richard's  habit  of  promptness, 
and,  as  she  had  anticipated,  her  waiting  was  short,  for 
she  had  scarcely  taken  her  position  when  a  ring  came 
at  the  doorway.  Springing  forward,  she  opened  the 
door.  It  was  Richard.  His  face  was  glowing,  his  eye 
beaming,  and  it  actually  sparkled  with  pleasure  when 
he  saw  that  she  had  been  awaiting  his  coming. 
"  How  good  of  you,  Bella,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm 
about  her.  "  What  man  ever  had  such  a  treasure  as 
you  ! " 

Then  as  he  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  the  thought 
came  to  her,  "  How  can  I  give  him  up  to  another?  " 
A  sharp  pang  shot  through  her' ;  but  she  said  gently, 
but  firmly,  "  Come  with  me,  darling,  into  the  library 
for  a  moment.  Never  mind  your  hat — bring  it  with 
you." 

When  they  reached  the  library,  she  said  to  him, 
"  Richard,  you  remember  that  day  six  years  ago,  on 
the  Cleopatra — did  I  not  then  stand  by  you  ?  " 

"You    did,  dear,"    he    answered.      "You   are   the 


278  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

truest,  bravest  woman  in  all  the  world,"  and  as  he 
said  this  he  put  his  arm  again  about  her. 

"Well,"  she  said,  returning  his  caress.  "I  will 
stand  by  you  again.  But  you  must  now  be  strong  in 
yourself.  You  will  have  to  control  yourself  with  all 
your  might  to  avert  suffering,  perhaps  death  from 
another — for  joy  has  been  known  to  kill  people." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Bella?"  he  asked.  "You 
talk  in  riddles." 

"  I  mean  that  Charlotte  Wilder  is  in  the  next  room. 
I  am  sure  of  it,  for  I  have  spoken  with  her." 

"Charlotte'"  he  exclaimed,  letting  fall  the  arm 
that  held  her  waist,  and  taking  a  step  or  two  back 
ward.  "  Charlotte,"  he  repeated.  "  Alive  !  My  God  ! 
My  God  !  "  A  deathly  pallor  came  upon  his  face,  a 
sudden,  convulsive  shiver  passed  over  him,  and  he 
sank  into  a  chair,  limp  and  powerless. 

She  went  to  him,  and  placing  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  said  in  a  half-tender,  half-imperious,  tone, 
"  Richard,  you  must  be  a  man.  Her  reason,  perhaps 
her  life,  depends  upon  it.  She  is  worn  down  with 
sorrow  at  your  loss  ;  and  if  you  are  not  cool,  self-col 
lected,  the  sudden  revelation  may  be  fatal  to  her.  So, 
darling,  for  her  sake,  for  my  sake,  be  everyway  your 
self." 

"  I  will,  Bella,"  he  answered.  "  But  you  will  not 
forsake  me,"  he  added,  taking  her  again  in  his  arms. 
"  I  couldn't  live  without  you,  my  darling." 

"You  shall  not  live  without  me,"  she  answered, 
gently,  brushing  away  the  hair  from  his  forehead. 
"  Whatever  comes,  I  will  not  forsake  you,  my  darling. 


A   RESURRECTION   OF  THE   DEAD.  279 

But  let  us  not  think  now  of  ourselves.  Let  us  think 
of  her.  She  must  know  this ;  but  you  will  need  to 
break  it  to  her  very  carefully,  very  gently,  or  with  all 
that  she  has  endured,  it  will  kill  her,  or  drive  her  crazy. 
You  are  so  much  changed,  that,  not  expecting  to  see 
you,  she  will  not  at  once  know  you.  Let  me  call  her 
in  here  ;  then,  alter  your  voice  a  little,  and  keep  your 
face  at  first  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtain.  You  might 
ask  her  about  Dorchester  people,  and  so  disclose  your 
self  gradually." 

''But  you  will  be  here,  my  darling,"  he  said,  still 
having  his  arm  about  her.  "You  will  not  leave  me." 

"I  will  not,  dear,"  she  answered.  "But  you  must 
be  strong  in  yourself.  Oh  !  Richard,  there  has  been  a 
terrible  crime  here.  To  think  that  her  mother,  who 
knew  she  was  alive,  did  not  tell  you,  when  you  were  so 
kind  to  her  !  As  sure  as  God  has  lightnings  they 
will  some  day  strike  that  woman.  Now,  I  will  go  to 
her.  Kiss  me,  dear, — stand  there  by  the  mantel,  where 
the  curtain  will  partly  hide  your  face ;  the  dim  light 
will  do  the  rest.  Now,  kiss  me  again,  dear,  promise 
me  that  you  will  be  strong,  and  all  yourself." 

"  I  will,  my  angel." 

Going  then  into  the  drawing-room  Isabel  told  Miss 
Wilder  that  a  gentleman-friend  of  hers  desired  to 
make  some  inquiries  of  her  about  Dorchester  people, 
and  that,  to  avoid  interruption,  he  begged  she  would 
come  into  the  library.  They  entered  the  room  by  the 
hall  door,  where  the  light  of  the  hall  chandelier  fell 
full  upon  Charlotte's  worn  and  wasted  features.  The 
face,  even  the  dress,  was  the  same  he  had,  six  years  be- 


280  THE   LAST   OF  THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

fore,  seen  in  his  vision.  No  greater  contrast  could 
exist  than  that  he  saw  between  her  and  Isabel — the 
one  radiant  in  her  glowing,  but  spiritual  beauty  ;  the 
other  of  withered  form,  and  features  from  which  every 
trace  of  comeliness  had  departed.  But  that  man's 
eyes  no  sooner  fell  on  that  woman's  face,  than  his  soul 
bounded  to  meet  her  soul.  Everything  else  in  life 
crumbled  away  at  the  sight.  What  to  him  was  fortune 
or  friends,  or  Bella  herself—beautiful,  pure,  and  loving 
as  she  was,  compared  with  that  faded,  sorrow-marked 
woman  ?  Once  he  had  lost  her,  but  now  that  she  was 
found,  nothing  in  earth,,  or  sky,  or  sun,  or  stars,  should 
keep  him  from  her,  who  was  the  mate  of  his  soul,  the 
very  heart  of  his  being.  Involuntarily  he  took  a  step 
forward  to  take  her  in  his  arms  ;  but,  stepping  quickly 
behind  Charlotte,  Bella  motioned  him  back,  and  re 
called  him  to  himself.  Instantly  he  was  self-collected, 
calm,  with  nerves  as  steady,  will  as  firm,  and  mind  as 
alert,  as  those  of  some  skilful  surgeon,  whose  hand 
is  feeling  along  some  vital  organ  where  the  slightest 
waver  of  his  keen-edged  scalpel,  will  be  instant  death 
t6  his  patient. 

When  Charlotte  had  seated  herself  upon  a  lounge, 
with  Isabel  by  her  side,  he  said  to  her  in  a  somewhat 
altered  tone.  "Pardon  me,  Miss  Wilder,  for  intrud 
ing  upon  you  ;  but  I  am  told  by  Miss  Lamson  that  you 
once  lived  in  Dorchester." 

"  I  did  live  there,  Sir,"  she  answered  in  a  placid, 
half-absent  manner,  and  scarcely  looking  at  him. 
"  I  was  born  there,  but  I  left  there  several  years 
aero." 


A   RESURRECTION   OF  THE   DEAD.  28 1 

"  And  did  you  know  a  family  there  whose  name  was 
Thorndike?  " 

"  Oh !  yes,"  she  answered.  "  They  were  near  neigh 
bors  of  ours.  I  was  a  great  favorite  with  Uncle  Rob 
ert.  I  always  called  him  '  uncle,'  though  we  were  not 
related.  I  loved  him  very  dearly." 

"  Did  he  not  have  a  nephew — a  young  man  named 
Richard?"  he  asked,  turning  his  face,  involuntarily 
more  directly  towards  her. 

"  Yes — Sir,"  she  answered,  with  a  slight  interval  be 
tween  the  words. 

"What  became  of  him?"  he  asked,  in  a  slow  and 
gentle  tone,  as  if  feeling  his  way  where  he  had  an  un- 
steadfast  footing. 

She  turned  her  eyes  fully  upon  him,  but  did  not 
seem  to  see  him,  and — as  if  forcing  out  the  words — 
said  in  broken  sentences,  "  He  went  to  China — but 
died  on  the  way — he  was  lost  at  sea." 

"  And  were  you  not  engaged  to  him  ? — Was  he  not 
to  have  been  your  husband?" 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment  ,  but  looked  at 
him  fixedly.  It  was  a  sort  of  dazed  look,  as  if  her 
mind  was  groping  its  way  among  long-buried  memories. 
His  voice,  his  face,  his  manner,  were  to  her  like  some 
familiar  thing  rising  suddenly  out  of  the  past  ;  and 
yet,  she  could  make  out  nothing  distinctly.  All  was 
dim  and  shadowy,  revealing  no  firm  outline.  "  He 
was  my  husband,"  she.  said,  speaking  slowly  and  dis 
tinctly.  "  He  is  still  my  husband — waiting  for  me  in 
heaven." 

His  hand  trembled,  the  nerves  of  his  face  twitched 


282  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

convulsively,  but  by  a  strong  effort  he  controlled  him 
self,  and  putting  his  hand  into  an  inner  pocket  of  his 
waistcoat,  he  drew  forth  the  small  gold  locket  that  he 
had  shown  to  Isabel.  It  flew  open  as  he  touched  the 
spring,  and,  handing  it  to  her,  he  asked  in  a  husky 
voice,  "  Do  you  remember  that  ?  " 

She  took  it  in  her  hand,  gave  a  sudden  start,  then, 
still  looking  intently  at  it,  as  if  to  assure  herself  that  it 
was  real,  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  in  a  quick,  eager 
tone,  asked,  "  How  did  you  get  this  ?  Ah  !  you  were 
with  him  !  You  were  saved — he  was  lost !  What  did 
he  say?  Tell  me!  He  must  have  sent  some  message 
to  me.  What  was  it  ?  Tell  me,  Sir — for  the  love  of 
God,  tell  me  !  " 

While  saying  this  she  had  clutched  his  arm  with  a 
grip  like  that  of  an  iron  vise,  and  he  had  stood  power 
less,  utterly  unable  to  speak.  But  as  she  uttered  the 
last  word  he  held  out  his  arms,  and  said  in  his  natural 
tone  of  voice,  "  Lottie — dear,  dear  Lottie — don't  you 
know  me — your  own  Dickon — me,  Richard  Thorn- 
dike?" 

She  placed  her  hands  upon  his  two  shoulders,  held 
him  at  arm's  length,  and  gazed  fixedly  in  his  face 
for  a  moment,  then  crying  out,  "  Oh !  Dickon — my 
Dickon  ! "  she  fell  into  his  arms  in  a  dead  swoon. 

Isabel  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  the  two  bore  Char 
lotte  to  the  lounge.  The  cry  brought  several  ladies 
into  the  room,  and  Isabel  said  to  them,  "  Some  of  you 
please  bring  restoratives  at  once ;  the  others,  be  good 
enough  to  leave  the  room.  She  needs  quiet  and  air." 

A   lady  soon  returned   with   the   restoratives,    and 


A   RESURRECTION   OF  THE   DEAD.  283 

while  Isabel  was  applying  them,  Miss  Murray  entered 
the  library.  "  Please  open  the  other  window,  Miss 
Murray,"  said  Isabel,  "  and  lock  the  sliding-doors. 
Do,  keep  everybody  out." 

By  this  time  Charlotte  showed  signs  of  returning 
consciousness,  and  soon  she  came  partially  to  herself. 
But  her  mind  was  unsettled.  She  knew  him,  for  she 
clutched  him  tightly,  as  if  afraid  to  let  him  go,  and  in 
a  few  moments  said,  "  Dear,  dear  Dickon,  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  come  back.  Uncle  Rob  will  be  so  glad 
to  see  you — and  Ponto,  too.  The  dear  old  dog  goes 
moaning  about  the  house  for  you  all  the  day.  Dear 
Dickon — kiss  me  now,  and  tell  me  you'll  never  go 
away  again." 

He  did  as  she  bade  him,  saying,  "  Never  again, 
Lottie.  I'll  never  leave  you  again — never." 

"That  is  a  good  Dickon — you  always  were  so  good. 
And  oh!  Dickon,  how  it  grieves  me  to  tell  you  that 
our  dear  Uncle  Rob  is  dead.  You  know  we  hoped  to 
be  the  comfort  of  his  old  age.  But  is  it  really  you, 
Dickon  ?  Let  me  look  at  you  again." 

Sitting  up  on  the  lounge,  she  held  him  again  at 
arm's  length,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  cry,  relapsed 
into  another  and  a  longer  swoon.  While  Isabel  was 
again  applying  the  restoratives,  Miss  Murray  said  in  a 
low  tone  to  her,  "  Why !  did  Cousin  Charlotte  know 
Mr.  Thorndike?" 

"  Know  him  !  "  said  Isabel,  "she  was  his  wife  ;  but 
has  thought  him  dead.  She  ought  to  have  a  physi 
cian,  Miss  Murray.  Won't  you  send  for  one  imme 
diately." 


284  THE   LAST   OF   THE    THORNDIKES. 

As  she  went  upon  the  errand,  Miss  Murray's  gor 
geous  Fifth  Avenue  mansion  dissolved  into  air — into 
air  as  thin  and  unsubstantial  as  are  the  hopes  and 
lives  of  such  women. 

After  a  time  Charlotte  came  again  out  of  the 
swoon.  She  knew  Richard,  but  her  mind  was  away 
in  the  dead  past  with  Uncle  Rob.  "  How  overjoyed 
he  will  be,  Dickon,"  she  said  ;  "  to  know  we  are  to  be 
married,  and  to  live  with  him,  and  you  are  not  going 
to  China.  And  I  won't  let  you  go,  Dickon,  I'll  never 
let  you  out  of  my  sight  again." 

Mrs.  Lamson  now  came  into  the  room  with  Miss 
Murray,  and  throwing  her  arms  about  Richard,  who 
was  standing  by  the  side  of  Charlotte  holding  one  of 
her  hands,  she  said  to  him.  "  My  poor,  dear  boy  ; 
what  a  dreadful  thing  this  has  been." 

"  Dreadful,  Mother,  dreadful !  "  he  said,  "  Perhaps 
God  can  forgive  the  woman  who  did  it — I  fear  I  never 
can." 

"Who  is  that  you  call  Mother,  Dickon?"  asked 
Charlotte,  "  Why— you  have  no  mother." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have,  Lottie,"  he  answered,  "  and  you 
will  love  her  as  I  do." 

"  Well,  I  will,  if  she  loves  you,"  she  said  "  But  I  am 
a  little  tired  now,  Dickon.  Won't  you  sit  upon  the 
lounge,  and  let  me  lay  my  head  upon  your  lap  ?  It 
will  rest  me,  darling." 

She  lay  thus  for  awhile  in  silence,  looking  up  in  his 
face,  and  scanning  its  every  lineament  :  then  she  said, 
"  You  are,  indeed,  my  Dickon — come  back  to  me  from 
the  grave.  I  never  expected  to  see  you  till  we  should 


A   RESURRECTION   OF  THE   DEAD.  285 

meet  in  heaven.     And  how  good  it  is  of  God  to  brin"; 

o  o 

you  back.  But  you  are  young  and  handsome — so  very 
handsome — and  I  am  so  old,  and  so  plain,  and 
so  worn — you  can't  think  of  marrying  me  now. 
Mother  said  so — she  said  if  you  did  come  back,  you'd 
never  marry  such  a  scarecrow  as  I  am." 

"When  did  she  say  that,  my  Beauty?"  said  Rich 
ard,  asking  the  question,  not  because  he  cared  for  an 
answer,  but  to  keep  her  mind  to  a  connected  train  of 
thought. 

."  Beauty  !  "  she  echoed,  smiling,  "  That's  what  you 
used  to  call  me  ;  but  I'm  no  beauty  now.  But  you 
asked  me  when  mother  called  me  a  scarecrow.  It 
was  nearly  four  years  ago,  when  she  first  learned  that 
her  husband  had  lost  our  fortunes.  Then  she  wanted 
me  to  be  a  spirit-medium,  to  get  gain  for  her  support. 
I  told  her  that  I  couldn't,  and  wouldn't,  be  a  tene 
ment-house  for  every  foul  spirit  that  roamed  about 
the  earth — that,  if  I  did,  I  shouldn't  be  fit  to  live 
with  you  in  your  home  beyond  the  stars — beyond  the 
stars,  Dickon  ;  for  I  didn't  dream  of  ever  meeting  you 
here.  Oh  !  is  not  the  Lord  good  to  us  ?  " 

There  had  been  some  delay  in  securing  a  physi 
cian:  but  now  one  entered  the  room  with  Mr.  Mur 
ray.  The  case  had  been  explained  to  him,  and  he 
merely  counted  the  young  lady's  pulse,  saying,  "  The 
shock  has  weakened  her — that  is  all.  She  needs 
quiet,  and  entire  freedom  from  excitement  for  a  few 
days.  A  good  sleep  will  do  more  to  bring  her  fully 
around  than  anything  else." 

She  was  sitting  erect,  and  to  all   appearance  was  as 


286  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

well  as  before.  "  But  Richard  can't  stay  here,"  she 
said,  "  Every  room  in  the  house  is  occupied — and  I'll 
not  be  parted  from  him  again.  You  live  somewhere, 
Dickon — won't  you  take  me  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  will,"  said  Isabel.  "  You  shall  have  my 
room,  and  I'll  tend  you  day  and  night  until  you  are 
quite  well  again." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered.  "  Then  you  live  with 
Richard  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Isabel,  "  we  live  together.  I  am  his 
sister,  and  my  mother  is  his  mother." 

"  Then,  surely,"  replied  Charlotte,  "  I  shall  love 
you  very  much." 

In  the  carriage  she  reclined  her  head  against  the 
young  man's  shoulder,  and  appeared  to  sink  at  once 
into  a  gentle  slumber.  As  they  rolled  along  the 
crowded  streets  she  opened  her  eyes  again,  and  said  to 
him,  "Dickon,  dear,  won't  you  take  me  out  upon  the 
veranda,  under  the  grape-vine,  where  we  have  sat  so 
often  together.  I'm  tired  and  you'll  have  to  help  me. 
But  I  want  to  see  the  sun  go  down  there  on  our  wed 
ding  day." 

A  little  while  later  she  lifted  her  head  from  his 
shoulder,  and  said,  "  I  believe  I've  been  a  little  dazed, 
but  it  all  comes  to  me  now.  You  have  come  back, 
Dickon,  and  you  love  me  still,  though  I  am  so  poor, 
ancj  so  ugly.  Why,  Dickon,  I  dare  not  have  a  look- 
ing-glass  in  my  room,  lest  I  should  break  it  by  merely 
passing  near  it.  But,  I  never  was  half  so  beautiful  as 
Miss  Lamson." 

"  You  were  always  very  beautiful  to  me,"  he  said. 


A   RESURRECTION   OF   THE   DEAD.  287 

"  You  used  to  say  so,  and  yet,  you  wouldn't  marry 
me  because  I  was  rich.  But  I'm  not  rich  now — so, 
that  needn't  be  in  the  way." 

"  Richard  is  the  rich  one,  now,"  said  Isabel.  "  He 
is  very  rich,  and  a  great  merchant.  But  he  is  just  as 
good  and  true  as  when  he  was  poor." 

Soon  after  their  arrival  at  the  house,  Isabel  con 
ducted  Charlotte  up  to  her  own  chamber,  while  Richard 
remained  alone  in  the  library.  While  he  was  seated 
there  about  an  hour  later,  thinking  over  the  strange 
events  of  the  night,  Isabel  stole  into  the  room,  and 
coming  softly  behind  him,  put  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  saying,  "Dickon,  dear  Dickon — what  a  sweet 
name  it  is  !  How  strange  I  never  thought  of  it.  But 
now  I  shall  always  call  you  so." 

"  Do,  dear,"  he  said,  "  Won't  you  sit  down,  and  talk 
with  me  a  little  while,  Bella  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  darling,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  equal  to  it 
to-night.  We  will  talk  it  all  over  to-morrow.  But, 
you  must  not  leave  the  house  till  you  have  seen  Char 
lotte.  And  oh  !  she  has  told  me,  Richard,  that  she 
loves  me  because  I  love  you,  and  she  would  like  to 
have  me  with  her  always !  Now,  kiss  me  '  good 
night/  dear." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

ISABEL  did  not  come  down  to  breakfast  on  the 
following  morning,  and  Mrs.  Lamson  and  Richard  had 
been  awaiting  her  for  a  full  hour,  when  she  made  her 
appearance  in  the  library.  She  seemed  as  self-col 
lected  as  usual,  but  her  manner  was  sedate,  and  her  face 
bore  traces  of  a  sleepless  night.  "  I  hope  I  have  not 
kept  you  waiting,  Dickon,"  she  said,  as  she  entered 
the  room. 

"  It  does  not  matter,  Bella,"  he  answered,  "I  was 
only  anxious  to  hear  about  Charlotte." 

"  She  is  sleeping  now  very  quietly,"  she  replied. 
"  My  going  into  her  room  after  leaving  you  last  night, 
awoke  her,  and  she  did  not  get  to  sleep  again  for 
several  hours;  but  she  has  slept  very  soundly  ever 
since.  She  is  entirely  herself  again,  and  Richard — 
she  is  an  angel." 

He  smiled  as  he  answered,  "  I  knew  that  you  would 
appreciate  her — she  is  so  much  like  you.  Two  persons 
so  like,  and  yet  so  unlike,  I  never  knew.  But,  Bella, 
you  do  not  look  well." 

"  The  truth  is,  Richard,"  said  Mrs.  Lamson,  "  I  don't 
believe  she  has  slept  two  hours  during  the  night." 

Richard  had  been  regarding  her  closely,  and  now  he 
said,  in  a  very  gentle  tone,  "  You  should  have  talked 


CONCLUSION.  289 

with   me   last  night,    Bella.     You    would    have   slept 
better,  if  you  had." 

The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him, 
but  she  said  nothing.  Mrs.  Lamson  now  rose,  saying, 
"Children,  I  will  leave  you  alone  together.  I  know 
that  what  you  conclude  upon  will  be  for  the  best." 

"  Don't  go,  mother,"  said  Richard,  catching  her  by 
the  hand.  "  Neither  Bella  nor  I  would  keep  anything 
from  you.  Our  first  thought  is  to  make  you  happy." 

"  I  know  it  is,  my  son,"  she  answered,  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  her  face  close  to  his.  "  Oh ! 
Richard,  with  Israel  dead,  I  could  not  live  without 
you.  Promise  me  that  whatever  you  and  Bella  decide 
upon,  you  will  not  leave  us." 

"  Leave  you  !  "  he  exclaimed,  drawing  her  more 
closely  to  him.  "  How  could  I  leave  you  ?  Until 
you  loved  me  I  never  knew  a  mother's  love.  It  would 
tear  the  very  soul  from  my  body  to  part  with  either 
you  or  Bella." 

He  looked  at  Isabel  as  he  said  this.  Her  eyes  were 
streaming  with  tears.  She  turned  her  face  away  to 
hide  them,  but  he  saw  her  bosom  heave  tumultuously. 

"  Bless  you,  my  son,  for  saying  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Lamson,  "  but  I  knew  that  you  would  say  it.  Now, 
kiss  me,  dear,  and  I  will  go.  Be  gentle  with  Bella. 
Her  heart  is  almost  broken." 

As  Mrs.  Lamson  turned  to  leave  the  room,  Richard 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  taking  Isabel  by  the  hand, 
placed  her  upon  the  lounge  by  his  side,  saying, 
"  Bella,  dear  Bella  :  have  we  lived  so  long  together — 
and  you  do  not  know  me  yet  ?  " 
'9 


2QO  THE   LAST   OF  THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

"  Oh !  yes,  dear,"  she  answered,  now  sobbing  convul 
sively,  and  hiding  her  face  on  his  breast.  "  I  do — 
know  you — Richard." 

"  Then  you  know  that  every  fibre  of  my  being  is 
twined  about  you — that  you  are  a  part  of  myself, 
and  I  could  not  live  without  you." 

"  Yes,  dear.  It  is  so  with  me,  dear :  I  could  not 
part  from  you  and  live."  She  spoke  more  calmly,  but 
she  held  him  to  her  convulsively. 

"  And  do  you  not  remember  that  last  night,  when 
your  father  joined  our  hands  together,  and  I  promised 
to  be  your  stay  and  comfort  as  long  as  I  should  live?  " 

"  Yes,  dear ;  and  I  think  he  died  happier  for  the 
promise  you  made." 

He  paused  to  press  his  lips  to  hers,  and  when  he 
spoke  again  his  voice  was  husky  with  emotion.  "  And 
do  you  not  know,  Bella,  that  from  the  first  day  your 
father  knew  me,  he  loaded  me  with  kindness  ?  that  all 
I  am,  and  nine-tenths  of  all  I  have,  I  owe  to  him  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  that,"  she  said ;  "what  you  are, 
you  owe  to  yourself ;  and  what  you  have,  you  fairly 
earned — even  the  great  love  that  he  gave  you." 

"We  sometimes  differ,  dear,  but  we  never  dispute  : 
so,  I'll  not  contradict  you  now.  Nevertheless,  what  I 
say  is  true ;  and  can  you  believe  that  I  shall  let  him 
say  to  me  when  we  meet  in  the  other  life,  '  I 
trusted  my  daughter  to  you,  and  you  promised  to  be 
her  stay  and  consolation  to  her  life's  end.  And  how 
have  you  kept  that  promise  ?  By  your  sugared  words 
you  bound  to  you  her  very  soul  ;  and  you  made  her 
believe  in  an  earthly  paradise  in  which  you  would 


CONCLUSION.  291 

love  and  cherish  her  as  the  apple  of  your  eye,  till  you 
should  restore  her  to  me  at  the  last.  All  this  you  led 
her  to  hope :  and  then  to  gratify  your  own  selfish  love, 
you  cast  her  off,  to  drift  through  life  loveless  and 
alone.'  Oh !  no,  Bella,  you  cannot  know  me,  if  you 
have  for  one  moment  thought  that  I  would  sneak  into 
your  good  father's  presence  to  hear  those  words ;  and 
you  don't  know  Charlotte  if  you  suppose  that  she 
would  not  despise  me  if  I  did." 

"  I  do  know  both  her  and  you,  darling,  and  that 
makes  all  this  so  hard  to  bear,"  and  again  she  hid  her 
face  upon  his  breast,  and  sobbed  convulsively. 

"  But  it  need  not  be  hard,  dear  Bella,"  he  said, 
gently  smoothing  her  rumpled  hair.  "  I  will  be  your 
loving  husband  always.  Charlotte  will  willingly  resign 
me  to  you.  She  will  tell  you  that  she  would  not  be 
happy,  if  I  were  to  disappoint  your  father's  wish." 

"She  has  already  told  me  so,  dear,"  said  Bella. 
"  She  loves  you  so  well  that  she  would  rather  die  than 
have  you  do  what  she  thinks  would  dishonor  you. 
And  as  she  loves  you,  so  you  love  her.  Did  I  not  see 
how  your  very  soul  bounded  to  her  when  you  first 
caught  sight  of  her  face  last  night  ?  I  knew  it  would 
be  so,  when  I  told  you  I  would  be  yours.  I  knew  that 
a  parting  would  some  day  come ;  but  I  thought  it 
would  be  in  the  other  life,  and  that  for  all  of  this  life 
I  should  have  your  sweet  love.  I  thought  I  could 
give  you  up  to  her  there,  for  in  the  nature  of  things 
you  are  hers.  But,  I  should  have  you  here — here— 
oh!  my  darling."  She  put  her  hand  quickly  to  her 
side,  for  a  sharp  knife  wound  pierced  her :  then  she 


292  THE   LAST   OF   THE   TIIORNDIKES. 

buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  wept  unrestrain 
edly. 

He  placed  his  arm  tenderly  about  her,  and  his  voice 
was  very  gentle  as  he  said.  "  Listen  to  me,  Bella. 
There  is  something  higher  than  love — and  that  is, 
truth  and  right  ;  and  there  can  be  no  true  love  that  is 
not  founded  on  truth  and  right.  When  I  first  saw 
Charlotte's  haggard  face — made  haggard  by  sorrow 
for  me — my  soul  did  bound  to  her,  and  I  felt  that 
nothing  in  earth  or  heaven  should  keep  me  from  her. 
That  was  the  impulse  of  love  ;  but  as  soon  as  I  could 
reflect,  I  saw  that,  if  I  followed  that  impulse  I  should 
be  false  to  truth  and  my  very  manhood.  So,  darling, 
you  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  be  yours,  until  death, — 
what  may  come  afterwards  we  will  leave  to  God." 

Then  he  drew  her  again  closely  to  him,  and  covered 
her  lips  with  caresses.  She  submitted  passively,  and 
lay  for  a  few  moments  in  his  arms,  looking  up  lovingly 
in  his  face,  but  saying  nothing.  At  last,  gently  disen 
gaging  herself,  she  said,  "  I  saw  all  this  was  coming  that 
moment  when  she  told  me  who  she  was  ;  but  I  prayed 
the  Lord  to  strengthen,  and  guide  me,  and  He  did— 
on  the  instant  He  did.  He  showed  me  my  whole  way, 
and  my  whole  duty,  clearly ;  and  you  saw  that  I  went 
through  it  all,  without  faltering  a  moment.  I  have 
now  asked  Him  again,  and  He  has  shown  me  the  way, 
and  given  me  strength  again  ;  so,  dear,  listen  to  me, 
and  do  not  speak  one  word,  for  if  you  do,  I  may  not 
be  able  to  get  through.  But,  kiss  me  first,  darling." 

Then  drawing  a  little  away  from  him,  she  went  on. 
"  I  meant  to  have  slept  on  my  lounge  last  night,  but 


CONCLUSION.  293 

the  little  noise  I  made  on  entering  my  room,  awoke 
Charlotte,  and  she  urged  me  to  come  into  the  bed 
with  her.  I  did  so,  because  I  feared  that  if  I  should 
refuse,  it  might  affect  her  unfavorably  in  her  weak 
condition.  I  had  no  sooner  lain  down  beside  her  than 
she  said  to  me,  '  It  has  all  come  to  me,  dear  lady. 
Richard  was  not  lost  at  sea.  He  went  to  China,  and 
the  great  merchant,  who  was  to  have  made  him  his 
partner,  was  your  father,  and  that  explains  your  being 
his  sister,  and  your  mother,  his  mother.  But  how  was 
it  that  I  did  not  hear  from  him  after  he  got  to 
China  ? ' 

"  Then  I  told  her  of  your  having  sent  for  her,  and  of 
their  having  written  that  you  were  dead,  and  also  of 
your  seeing  the  notice  of  her  death  in  two  of  the 
Boston  papers.  This  shocked  her  so  greatly  that  I 
was  afraid  to  go  on,  and  I  said  that  I  would  tell  her 
the  rest  some  other  time,  when  she  was  better  able  to 
bear  it ;  but  meanwhile  she  might  take  comfort,  for 
you  were  hers  at  last — never  to  be  parted  from  her 
again.  However,  she  insisted  that  I  should  tell  her 
all,  at  once,  and  she  assured  me  that  she  was  strong 
enough  to  hear  it,  and  could  not  sleep  until  she  knew 
all  that  had  happened  to  you. 

"  So,  I  told  her  how  father  and  mother  loved  you 
from  the  very  first ;  what  a  help  you  were  to  him  in 
his  business,  and  what  a  joy  to  us  in  the  house ;  how 
nearly  you  had  died  when  you  heard  of  her  death  ; 
how  we  all  watched  over,  and  prayed  for  you,  till  you 
got  well ;  how  you  and  I  were  thrown  together  in 
attending  to  father's  charities ;  how  we  studied 


294  THE   LAST  OF  THE  THORNDIKES. 

together,  and  in  that  dear  little  room  found  our  Lord 
together ;  and  how  I  prayed  with  you,  and  worked 
with  you,  and  went  with  you  everywhere,  and  how 
you  told  me  everything,  even  your  business.  Then  I 
told  her  how  father  put  you  at  the  head  of  his  great 
firm,  over  two  older  partners  who  had  been  with  him 
twenty  years ;  and  how  when  we  were  all  ready  to 
come  to  this  country  together,  father  died,  and  with 
his  last  breath  blessed  you,  and  committed  mother  and 
me  to  you,  and  all  his  vast  property  everywhere.  I 
told  her  everything,  dear,  except  that  you  had  grown 
to  be  my  very  life,  and  I  should  die  if  separated  from 
you. 

"  While  I  was  telling  her  all  this  she  often  put  her 
arm  about  me,  and  kissed  me,  and  thanked  me  for 
having  been  so  much  to  you ;  but  when  I  repeated  to 
her  the  words  of  father  when  he  was  dying,  she  said. 
'  Ah  !  I  see — he  expected  Richard  would  marry  you, 
and,  thinking  me  dead,  Richard  has  promised  to  do 
so :  and  you  love  him — and  how  could  you  help  lov 
ing  him,  being  with  him  so  intimately,  and  so  long? 
Is  it  not  so,  dear  lady!  ' 

"  I  could  not  answer — I  could  not  speak.  All  I  could 
do  was  to  burst  into  tears,  and  weep  as  if  my  very 
heart  were  breaking.  Then  she  put  her  arm  again 
about  me,  and  drawing  me  close  to  her,  and  fondling 
me  as  if  I  had  been  a  little  child,  she  said,  '  Be  com 
forted,  my  dear,  I  shall  not  take  him  from  you.  Our 
dear  Lord — your  Lord  and  mine — has  not  let  you 
lead  me  to  Richard  to  destroy  your  own  peace.  Oh  ! 
no,  I  will  not  be  in  your  way,  I  will  give  him  to  you. 


CONCLUSION.  295 

It  will  be  happiness  enough  for  me  to  know  that  he 
will  go  through  life  with  the  love  of  so  pure  and  true 
a  soul  as  yours.  You  deserve  him,  dear  lady,  for  you 
saved  his  life,  and  you  led  him  to  our  dear  Lord,  and 
made  him  what  I  see  he  is — a  strong-minded,  great 
hearted  man.  I  love  you  for  doing  this ;  and  I 
should  not  love  him  as  I  do,  if  I  were  not  willing  he 
should  pay  with  his  whole  life  for  the  great  kindness 
and  love  that  have  been  shown  him  by  you  and 
yours.' " 

"  I  knew  she  would  say  that,  Bella,"  said  Richard. 
"  She  would  not  be  herself  if  she  had  not  said  it." 

"But  let  me  go  on,  dear,"  she  answered.  "  If  you 
interrupt  me  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  through. 
Well ;  then  I  said  to  her,  '  You  mean  that  he  shall 
be  mine  for  this  life — but  you  will  claim  him  in  the 
hereafter?'  She  answered.  'I  don't  know  the 
future.  That  will  be  as  the  Lord  wills.  I  shall  not 
claim  him  there  ;  but  if  he  is  mine,  he  will  come  to 
me,  and  nothing  can  keep  him  away.  The  duty  of 
to-day  is  all  that  concerns  us  ;  and  it  is  very  clear  that 
duty  now  bids  me  to  give  him  up  to  you  ;  and  I  do  it, 
dear  lady,  cheerfully  and  lovingly,  seeing  it  is  the 
Lord's  will.' 

"  I  refused  to  accept  the  sacrifice  ;  but  she  per 
sisted,  and  even  urged  it  as  her  wish.  I  still  refused, 
and  then  suddenly,  without  a  moment's  warning,  her 
head  sank  back  upon  her  pillow,  and  she  fell  asleep — 
asleep  from  very  sorrow.  I  suppose  the  strain  upon 
her  nerves  had  been  too  much  for  her  strength,  and 
nature  came  to  her  relief  by  overcoming  her  senses  by 


296  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

a  deep  slumber.  At  first  I  was  alarmed,  and  I  turned 
up  the  gas,  and  watched  her  closely  for  a  long  time  ; 
but  when  I  saw  that  she  continued  to  breathe  quietly, 
and  the  sleep  was  perfectly  natural,  I  crept  softly  out 
of  bed,  turned  the  gas  down  again,  and  went  to 
Mother's  room.  I  went  to  Mother  because  my  heart 
was  bursting,  and  I  should  have  gone  crazy  if  I  had 
not  unburdened  myself  to  some  one." 

Here  he  drew  her  gently  to  him,  and  caressing  her 
tenderly,  said,  "  Poor,  dear  little  thing — and  all  this 
suffering  for  me !  I  should  be  the  meanest  wretch 
alive,  if  I  did  not  drive  from  you  every  sorrow." 

She  neither  refused  nor  returned  his  caresses,  but 
merely  saying,  "  You  were  not  to  interrupt  me.  Let 
me  go  on,  please,"  she  continued.  "  I  told  Mother 
all,  and  for  a  long  while  lay  weeping  and  moaning  in 
her  arms,  for  I  could  not  control  myself — it  was  so 
hard,  dear,  so  very  hard  to  give  you  up.  Mother 
could  not  advise  me ;  but  at  last  she  said,  '  Let  us 
pray  the  good  Lord  to  show  us  what  to  do.'  Then 
we  kneeled  down,  and  asked  Him  to  give  us  light,  and 
the  light  came — to  both  of  us  at  once,  and  we  saw  our 
way  clearly.  And  this  it  was,  dear :  that  you  should 
marry  Charlotte,  and  she  should  be  the  mistress  of  the 
household — we  all  living  together,-  just  as  Father 
intended  we  should  live,  Mother  being  your  mother, 
and  I,  your  loving  sister,  just  as  I  always  have 
been." 

It  was  so;  and  they  were  a  loving  household,  living 
for,  and  in,  one  another,  and  realizing  that  peace 


CONCLUSION.  297 

which  comes  only  to  the  pure  and  true  of  heart,  whose 
souls,  purified  by  deep  trials,  have  come  out  into  a 
serener  light,  and  to  a  nearer  and  clearer  vision  of  the 
All  Pure  and  All  Loving.  The  bloom  did  not  fade 
from  the  cheeks  of  Isabel,  and  it  came  again  into 
those  of  Charlotte.  The  old  lustre,  too,  shone  in  her 
hair,  though  it  was  still  laced  with  silvery  threads,  and 
broad  white  bands  were  about  her  temples.  But  I 
think  this  added  to  her  beauty ;  at  least,  it  did  so  in 
the  eyes  of  her  husband,  who  often  told  her  that  she 
was  far  more  beautiful  at  fifty,  than  when  she  was  a 
girl  of  nineteen,  and  they  knelt  together  in  her 
father's  room,  and  he  first  called  her  "  wife,"  and  she 
first  called  him  "husband."  Isabel,  though  beautiful, 
and  exceedingly  attractive,  has  never  married.  It  has 
been  enough  for  her  to  walk  by  his  side,  to  share  his 
thoughts,  to  meet  daily  his  loving  look,  and  to  often 
hear  his  gentle  words  :  "  My  dear,  sweet  Sister." 

Mrs.  Lamson  is  now  upwards  of  eighty ;  her  face  is 
wrinkled,  her  hair  as  white  as  the  driven  snow ;  but 
her  mind  is  clear,  her  eye  is  bright,  and  it  lights  up 
with  a  tender  glow  whenever  she  speaks  of  her  three 
most  loving  children.  She  seldom  leaves  the  house, 
but  sits  there  day  by  day,  waiting  for  the  dawn,  but 
casting  loving  glances  around  on  the  gentle  souls,  who 
are  making  her  old  age  a  rose-strewn  pathway  to  the 
higher  life,  which,  in  God's  good  time,  she  is  to  share 
with  her  beloved  and  honored  husband. 

And  now  I  have  to  part  with  this  loving  and  lova 
ble  household.  I  am  loath  to  do  so,  for  they  have 
taucfht  me  that  there  is  something:  in  life  which  the 


298  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

sceptic  has  not  found  ;  something  that  makes  it  worth 
living,  that  allies  it  to  all  religious  hope,  and  all 
unfeigned  goodness,  purity,  and  truth. 

A  few  words  in  regard  to  some  other  persons  who 
are  mentioned  in  this  narrative  will  bring  it  to  an  end. 

In  the  December  following  his  marriage,  Richard 
was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  Mrs.  Alger  and  her 
daughter.  He  had  previously  notified  her  that  Char 
lotte  Wilder  was  alive,  and  consequently  entitled  to 
the  legacy  bequeathed  to  her  by  her  Uncle.  Mrs. 
Alger  brought  the  amount  of  it  with  her,  and  paid  it 
over  to  Richard,  with  many  expressions  of  satisfaction 
that  she  was  able  to  repair  the  injustice  which  Mrs. 
Cravan  had  sought  to  inflict  upon  her  daughter.  Her 
principal  object  in  coming  herself  to  America,  was, 
however,  to  consult  Richard  as  to  the  management  of 
her  real-estate  in  China.  It  was  in  charge  of  her  late 
husband's  partners,  who,  she  was  convinced,  were  de 
ceiving  and  defrauding  her. 

Richard  suggested  as  a  speedy  remedy,  the  placing 
of  it  all  in  the  hands  of  Lee  Ling,  the  Compradore. 
An  honester  man,  he  said,  was  not  living,  nor  one 
better  acquainted  with  real-estate  in  Hong  Kong. 
Mrs.  Alger  had  merely  to  send  him  her  Power  of  At 
torney,  and  he  would  protect  her  interest  to  the  utter 
most.  He  would  ask  him  to  take  charge  of  the  prop 
erty  ;  but  would  advise  its  being  sold,  and  the  pro 
ceeds  invested  in  the  English  funds. 

Richard  and  his  entire  household,  were  charmed 
with  Mrs.  Alger  and  her  daughter.  They  were  their 


CONCLUSION.  299 

guests  for  many  weeks,  and  when  they  finally  set  sail 
for  England,  it  was  with  the  intention  of  leasing  or 
selling  their  residence  near  London,  and  then  return 
ing  to  New  York  to  live  as  neighbors  of  the  Thorn- 
dikes.  This  intention  they  speedily  carried  out,  and,  , 
if  time  and  strength  serve  me,  I  may  at  a  future  time 
relate  something  of  their  subsequent  history  in  this 
country. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  devote  a  few  sen 
tences  to  the  unnatural  mother,  whose  malignity  came 
so  near  to  wrecking  the  life  of  her  own  daughter. 

Mrs.  Cravan  brought  her  legacy  with  her  from  Eng 
land.  How  much  of  it  remained  to  her  after  paying 
the  London  lawyers,  and  satisfying  the  rapacity  of 
Suydam,  I  do  not  know ;  but  she  at  once  bought  a 
villa  at  Newport,  and  engaged  the  most  expensive 
suite  of  rooms  in  the  same  up-town  hotel  in.  which  she 
had  lived  as  a  charity  boarder.  Richard  occasionally 
heard  of  her  as  living  a  life  of  wild  extravagance,  in  an 
insane  round  of  excitement  and  female  dissipation  : 
but  he  never  met  her,  nor  did  Charlotte.  If  she  was 
ever  alluded  to  between  them,  Charlotte  would  say 
sadly,  "  Let  us  not  speak  of  her,  Dickon.  She  was 
once  my  mother ;  but  our  ways  in  life  have  parted." 

At  last — I  think  it  was  about  seven  years  after  their 
marriage — Charlotte  one  day  received  a  letter  from 
her  mother,  in  which  she  said,  "  If  you  or  your  hus 
band  are  willing  to  do  a  kindness  to  one  who  has 
wronged  you  so  greatly  as  I  have,  you  will  come  to 
me  directly.  It  may  soon  be  too  late,  for  my  physi 
cian  tells  me  that  I  may  die  at  any  moment."  When 


300  THE   LAST   OF  THE   THORNDIKES. 

Charlotte  handed  this  note  to  her  husband,  he  said, 
"  I  feel  only  pity  for  her,  Lottie.  We  will  go  if  you 
have  strength  enough  to  bear  the  interview." 

Mrs.  Cravan  was  living  at  the  up-town  hotel,  and, 
their  card  being  sent  to  her  rooms,  the  servant  soon 
returned  saying  that  the  lady  was  at  home,  and  would 
receive  the  visitors.  They  were  shown  into  a  spacious 
apartment  on  the  second  floor,  tastefully,  though 
somewhat  gorgeously,  furnished,  and  fronting  upon  a 
crowded  avenue  through  which  a  stream  of  busy  life 
was  racing  and  whirling.  The  noon -day  sun  was 
streaming  in  at  the  front  windows,  and  near  one  of 
these  windows,  in  a  high-backed  arm-chair,  Mrs.  Cra 
van  was  seated,  looking  intently  at  the  door  by  which 
they  entered. 

They  were  expecting  to  meet  her,  or  they  might 
have  failed  to  recognize  her.  Her  once  luxuriant 
hair  had  fallen  off,  and  what  little  remained  was  of  a 
muddy  white ;  and  the  beauty  of  her  face  had  gone 
forever.  Her  eyes  had  a  dull,  glassy,  and  yet,  rest 
less  look,  that  told  of  an  unquiet  mind  ;  and  her  once 
rounded  cheeks  were  sunken,  and  of  that  sallow, 
sickly  hue,  which  is  often  seen  in  persons  who  have 
for  years  given  a  loose  rein  to  disorderly  passion.  Her 
form  was  bloated  and  unwieldly.  Her  hands  were 
twisted  at  the  wrists,  the  finger-ends  pointing  inwards, 
and  her  feet  were  drawn  out  of  shape,  one  of  them, 
which  rested  on  a  stool,  being  badly  distorted. 
Altogether,  she  was  an  object  painful  to  behold. 

Astonished  beyond  measure,  Richard  and  Charlotte 
paused  near  the  threshold  of  the  room,  and  stood 


CONCLUSION.  301 

there  a  few  moments,  speechless.  She,  too,  looked  at 
them  without  speaking,  her  face  wearing  a  cold,  hard, 
indescribable  expression.  Richard  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence.  "  You  have  sent  for  us,  Mrs.  Cra- 
van,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  still  fixed  on  them  in  a  sort  of  glassy  stare, 
she  replied,  in  a  hard,  gritty  tone,  "Yes,  I  sent  for 
you." 

Motioning  Charlotte  to  a  chair,  and  taking  one  him 
self,  Richard  said,  with  evident  feeling,  "You  are 
sadly  changed.  It  grieves  me  to  see  you  so  afflicted." 

"Why  should  it  grieve  you?"  she  asked,  in  the 
same  gritty  tone.  "  What  reason  have  you  to  feel  for 
me  anything  but  hatred  ?  " 

"  Whatever  reason  I  have,  I  do  not  hate  you,  Mrs. 
Cravan.  But  tell  me,  is  there  no  remedy  for  this  ? — 
can  you  not  be  freed  from  this  misery?" 

"  There  is  no  remedy,  Richard,''  she  answered,  in  a 
somewhat  softer  tone.  "  I  have  sat  here  now,  chained 
to  this  chair,  for  a  whole  year.  I  may  sit  here  twenty 
years  longer,  or  the  rheumatism  may  go  suddenly  to 
my  heart,  and  carry  me  off  in  an  instant.  Dropsy  has 
recently  set  in — you  see  how  it  has  deformed  me — and 
that  may  soon  bring  me  release.  I  hope  it  will.  I 
would  hasten  the  time  if  I  dared.  But  I  dare  not. 
I  am  a  coward,  I  cannot  face  the  future." 

"  I  thank  God  you  have  been  held  from  that,"  he 
said.  "  It  would  only  make  bad  worse."  Then,  after 
a  slight  pause,  during  which  he  had  looked  closely  at 
Charlotte,  to  observe  the  effect  of  the  interview  upon 
her,  he  added,  "  Do  you  suffer  much  pain  ?  " 


302  THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 

"  At  times  I  do,  excruciating  pain  in  every  joint  and 
limb.  But  that  is  not  all  I  suffer.  I  am  a  wreck, 
Richard,  soul  as  well  as  body ;  and  as  I  sit  here  alone, 
helpless,  and  almost  hopeless,  the  past  comes  back, 
and  tortures  me  with  its  dreadful  memories.  It  is  a 
hideous  thing,  but  I  am  forced  to  look  at  it.  I  try  to 
avoid  it ;  but  it  meets  me  whichever  way  I  turn.  It 
haunts  me  day  and  night.  I  have  read  that  hell  is  the 
memory  of  a  misspent  life,  rising  forever  before  the 
mind  in  that  world  where  sleep  brings  no  oblivion,  and 
the  soul  must  always,  by  day  and  by  night,  act  over 
its  sins,  and  be  tortured  by  its  wrong-doings." 

"  If  such  are  your  reflections,  Mrs.  Cravan,"  said 
Richard,  "  I  pity  you,  I  sincerely  pity  you." 

"  I  do  not  want  your  pity,"  she  answered  tartly. 
"I  did  not  send  for  you  to  hear  it.  Nor  do  I  want 
your  forgiveness,  or  your  friendship — and  now  I  mean 
both  of  you.  If  I  had  it,  it  would  torture  me,  for  I 
do  not  deserve  it." 

"  Then  why  did  you  send  for  us?"  asked  Richard. 

"  For  an  altogether  selfish  reason — to  relieve  my 
mind  of  the  burden  that  is  on  it.  It  may  help  me  to 
a  few  moment's  peace,  if  I  confess  my  sins  to  you  two 
whom  I  have  so  deeply  wronged." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Richard,  "  we  will  listen,  if  it  will 
help  to  relieve  the  pain  of  mind  you  feel." 

"  Well,"  she  answered  ;  "  if  I  talk,  you  must  let  me 
tell  things  as  they  come  to  me.  Being  so  much  alone 
with  my  own  thoughts,  I  have  almost  lost  control  of 
my  ideas,  and  my  brain  will  act  strangely.  My  mind 
is  clear  enough  ;  but  my  thoughts  come  to  me  dis- 


CONCLUSION.  303 

jointed,  without  connection ;  and  you  will  have  to 
prompt  me — lead  me  to  the  subject  you  would  like  to 
have  me  talk  about." 

Then  followed  a  hideous  recital  of  pride  and  selfish 
ness,  of  fraud  and  dishonesty,  of  sin  and  shame,  of 
guilty  love  and  premeditated  murder,  when,  in  a 
frenzy  of  insane  rage,  she  had  intentionally  goaded  on 
the  man,  who  had  been  at  once  her  victim  and  her 
destroyer,  to  the  crime  of  self-destruction.  The  de 
tails  of  the  wretched  story  I  shall  not  recount,  for 
there  can  be  no  profit  in  tracing  a  career  that  contains 
nothing  to  admire,  or  to  emulate  ;  nor  any  pleasure  in 
witnessing  the  tortures  of  a  soul  racked  by  a  remorse 
that  had  in  it  not  one  element  of  repentance.  Char 
lotte  heard  the  tale  with  tears,  Richard,  with  a  sort 
of  horror  that  was  at  times  almost  blood-curdling. 
When  at  the  last  she  told  of  the  wicked  device  of 
inserting  the  notice  in  the  Boston  papers,  to  ward  off 
an  investigation  that  might  have  led  to  the  detection 
of  the  lie  contained  in  Cravan's  letter  to  Henshaw,  she 
said,  with  a  hollow  laugh,  "  But,  Richard,  are  you  not 
avenged  ?  Look  at  me — a  miserable  wreck,  a  living 
death — chained  to  this  chair,  and  condemned  to  go 
over  and  over,  day  after  day,  my  wretched  past,  with 
never-ceasing  regret,  and  self-abhorrence!  " 

"  Say  no  more !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  say  no  more  ! 
No  good  can  come  from  thus  raking  up  the  dark 
things  in  your  life.  The  wrongs  you  have  done  can 
not  be  undone,  so  leave  them  with  God.  Cast  your 
burden  upon  Him,  and  ask  Him  to  give  you  peace. 
So  only  will  you  find  it.  But  you  shall  not  be  friend- 


304 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   THORNDIKES. 


less  or  alone,  if  you  will  allow  us  to  befriend  and  com 
fort  you.  Both  Charlotte  and  I  only  need  to  know 
that  our  kind  feeling  will  be  accepted,  to  give  you  all 
the  care  that  children  owe  to  a  mother.  We  will  not 
dwell  upon  what  you  have  been  ;  we  will  think  only  of 
what  you  may  become.  And  as  to  the  wrong  you 
have  done  us,  it  may  console  you  at  some  future  time, 
if  it  does  not  now,  to  know  that  fully,  freely,  and  with 
all  our  hearts,  we  forgive  you." 

"  Ah,  Richard,"  she  said,  closing  her  eyes,  and  a 
bitter  expression  coming  upon  her  face,  "  your  for 
giveness  is  galling  to  me — your  kindness  is  a  reproach. 
Leave  me !  Leave  me  to  my  misery,  and,  unless  I 
send  for  you,  never  see  me  again." 

She  never  sent  for  them,  and  they  never  saw  her 
again.  She  lived  another  two  years,  friendless,  love 
less  and  alone  ;  and  then  from  that  spacious  room  she 
was  carried  to  the  narrow  grave— the  grave  which 
holds  in  its  bosom  all  the  secrets  of  human  history. 
There  let  the  secrets  of  her  life  rest,  known  only  to 
God,  and  to  those  who  were  the  victims  of  her  wicked 
ness. 

After  a  wedded  life  of  more  than  thirty  years,  Rich 
ard  and  Charlotte  are  still  childless,  and,  therefore,  I 
am  right  in  styling  him  the 

LAST  OF  THE  THORNDIKES. 


THE  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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Form  L9 — 15m-10,'48(Bl039)444 


UNIVERSITY  ol 

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ES 


1744 

(T424  1 


Last  of  the 
Thorndikes . 


PS 

1744 
G424  1 


UCSOUTHENREGONAUB^YACIL^ 


A  A      000037442    1 


